


the long and winding road

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: ESL Thorin, Fluff, Hogwarts AU, Kid Fic, M/M, Middle Earth, Modern AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Outsider, Romance, Scotland, Tumblr Prompt, animal birth, musician au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which there were Bagginshield prompts.See chapter notes for earlier prompts.10. Bilbo, I want a baby.11. Why do you play on the same street corner everyday when I know you're actually a world-renowned musician?12. Professor Durin and Professor Baggins, in a committed but secret relationship, meet for a drink in Hogsmeade.13. In which flower meanings are explained.14. In which Bilbo turns one hundred years old and Thorin plans a surprise party.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Sorry I spilled my iced coffee on your khakis at the bus stop. Prompt given by [angelsallfire](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire)

Six-thirty in the morning is an absolutely atrocious time to be awake, let alone out and about.  
  
And yet there are plenty of people walking and driving to work at this hour and the sounds of the engines and chatter are enough to give Bilbo a headache. It’s too blasted early but he hadn’t gone to bed until three and woke at five, his nerves not letting him enjoy any peace and quiet.  
  
He’d been up late writing his novel and cursing the inspiration that tended to only find him in the evenings and the wee small hours of the morning. But he could not stop typing and by the time he had finished, he had an entire three chapters finished, which were now waiting for editing. It is all very exciting and Bilbo is eager to get back home and continue later in the afternoon.  
  
If he survives that long.  
  
Six-thirty in the morning is offensive, he thinks, as he walks down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. He has a class to teach at eight - which is, and he has brought this up to Gandalf many times, still too blasted early - and he was getting antsy simply sitting at home waiting for the time to pass. So now he’s on his way to the university to see if he can catch up on any work while he’s there.  
  
And if he’s texting Drogo a fairly long rant about six-thirty in the morning, well, he thinks that’s entirely fair. Drogo is an early riser but he might not respond for a few hours yet what with taking care of the baby.  
  
Bilbo’s nose is in his phone as he steps up to the bus stop. He is vaguely aware that the benches are full of people on their way to work and stands a little off to the side as he pounds the exclamation point repeatedly on his phone.  
  
He can only hope the ruffians in class won’t give him too much trouble.  
  
If he survives that long, considering the solid mass that suddenly rams into him.  
  
“Shit!”  
  
“Blast it!”  
  
Bilbo yelps as many things happen at once; he drops his phone, something very liquidy splashes into his face and over his sweater vest and his glasses fall down his nose.  
  
He flails for his glasses and manages to catch them before they are a victim of the concrete like his phone. The bus stop has gone eerily silent and Bilbo slowly lifts his gaze to the very tall person that has smacked right into him. He looks stunned and Bilbo and him simply gaze at each other in their respective shocked silences.  
  
“I’m… so, so sorry,” the man eventually says and Bilbo notices he is holding a cup of what was once iced coffee, which is steadily dripping off of his hand and on to his fancy shoes.  
  
Bilbo shakily wipes off his glasses on his sweater and puts them back on his nose before fetching his handkerchief from his pocket. He begins to wipe off his cheeks and chin and tries to process many things. The fact that he has been soaked in iced coffee and that this man somehow didn’t see him standing there and that this man is one of the most attractive men he has ever seen.  
  
“It’s… alright,” Bilbo says slowly and is highly aware of everyone looking at him. It’s not alright, really, but it is too early and he is too tired to get properly peeved. “Though I do wonder how you didn’t notice me standing here.”  
  
“I… I…” the man trails off before he lifts his phone in his other hand. “Distracted walking.”  
  
Bilbo snorts a little and nods as he looks down at his ruined sweater and then picks up his phone, which is thankfully not cracked. If only to not have to stare into the forget-me-not eyes this handsome stranger has. “If only there was an officer nearby to issue you a ticket. I do believe you deserve one.”  
  
The man sighs in what seems like relief. “I definitely do. I’m sorry, I should have been paying attention. It’s a shame…” he trails off again.  
  
Bilbo looks up and sees that the man is staring down at his sweater vest with a strange expression. He clears his throat a little. “Certainly a shame. You should never waste good coffee.”  
  
The man looks at Bilbo and smiles crookedly. “Or a nice sweater.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo says as his cheeks grow warm. “It’ll wash out. And I have a spare at work, thankfully, so I won’t be needing to go back home.”  
  
“Good,” the man sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Can I make it up to you somehow?” He checks his watch. “I have to be at work in twenty but maybe I can buy you a coffee?”  
  
Bilbo knows it’s merely an offer because the man feels badly but he coughs nervously anyway.  
  
Tall, dark and handsome. He’s got black hair that’s slicked back, some grey around his temples and a very finely trimmed, neat beard. He’s wearing a suit that looks as if it cost as much as Bilbo’s bimonthly check from work. There’s something kind about his eyes but something stern about his brow as well. Overall, it’s too blasted early in the morning for Bilbo’s brain to process anything, especially not an offer of coffee.  
  
“Oh, no, but thank you. The university has a cafe I get my coffee at. Just promising to keep your nose out of your phone will be enough for me.”  
  
He’s aware of how hypocritical that is but he doesn’t mention that.  
  
The man chuckles. “I promise I will,” he says as his eyes crinkle at the corners. “If not coffee… maybe I can buy you dinner?”  
  
Bilbo’s blushing now, damn it all. “You don’t have to give me any money,” he says slowly.  
  
“I meant to take you to dinner,” the man says with a small smile. “Not give you a twenty and skirt my responsibility in making it up to you.”  
  
“You don’t have to make it up to me,” Bilbo says a bit breathlessly. “It was an accident.”  
  
“But I’d _like_ to take you to dinner. Very much so.”  
  
Bilbo clears his throat as he notices the man’s ears turning a bit red. Perhaps his offer of dinner isn’t entirely because of the coffee and it’s _too blasted early_ for Bilbo to think of anything eloquent or witty to say in reply.  
  
“Well then I suppose you better,” he blurts. “I’d quite like that. My choosing, of course.”  
  
The man grins. “Of course. What do you have in mind?”  
  
“The Ledbury, naturally.”  
  
The man is gaping at him now, his eyebrows raised.  
  
Bilbo laughs. “I’m joking!” he says and grins. “But I do know a wonderful little tea shop not far from here.”  
  
“That sounds good,” the man says with a smirk and a sigh of relief. “I’m Thorin Durin.” He offers his hand.  
  
Bilbo takes it and gives it a good shake. “Bilbo Baggins. I might not have wanted to meet this way…”  
  
“But I’m glad we did,” Thorin smiles. “Let me give you my number.”  
  
So Thorin does. And if, when Thorin gets on his bus with a wave and goodbye, Bilbo notices a few of the riders nearby him smiling with a mischievous glint in their eye, well, he simply hurries on to his own bus and ignores them.  
  
There are many texts throughout the day and Bilbo’s students ask him why he’s grinning at his phone numerous times and he tells them to mind their business and finish their essays before he fails them all.  
  
And if, at his lunch break, he is smiling at his phone and barely picking at his sandwich and Gandalf walks by with a mutter of, “The start of something wonderful, hmm?” well, Bilbo only smiles all the wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title suggested by the wonderful [telltalelily](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/telltalelily)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Sorry, I've been in love with you since kindergarten. (With bonus shy Thorin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [sieg-phantomhive](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sieg-phantomhive)

Thorin is going to kiss Bilbo.  
  
He just knows it.  
  
Bilbo, wonderful Bilbo. He’s shorter than Thorin and, according to his mother, _very cute._ Thorin thinks bunnies are cute and they remind him of Bilbo so his mother must be right. And Bilbo is only a few months younger than himself, which Thorin has learned is a good thing after his mother once yelled about her cousin and his wife’s _way too big age difference._  
  
And Bilbo likes to play swords and dragons, often leading Thorin on grand adventures in the playground. Bilbo is mostly the knight and Thorin is mostly the princess in need of saving but he doesn’t mind because he gets to play with Bilbo.  
  
Wonderful, wonderful Bilbo.  
  
When the bell rings, Thorin hurries outside with the rest of his class and scours the playground for his one and only. He frowns when there is no sign of Bilbo until suddenly there are two hands placed over his eyes from behind.  
  
“Guess who!”  
  
Thorin beams. “Bilbo!” he says and turns once Bilbo lets him go.  
  
And Bilbo beams back, his hands clasped behind his back, one strap of his overalls slipping down his arm. Thorin thinks he is the best thing he has ever seen.  
  
“Do you want to play swords and dragons today?” Bilbo asks, ever polite and raises his eyebrows hopefully.  
  
“Can I be the princess today?” Thorin asks, even though he is the princess every day, but princesses get to kiss knights.  
  
“You’re always my princess!” Bilbo laughs and takes Thorin’s hand. They run off together in search of a dragon.  
  
Smaug’s a bully but he does do a very good impression of a mean dragon.  
  
Thorin calls for help from his tower and Bilbo fights off invisible enemies as well as he always does, swinging around a gleaming sword and yelling battle cries as he does. Smaug roars from the top of his hill and holds his fingers against his head to show off his horns as he charges Bilbo. Thorin thinks that Smaug always lets Bilbo win because he is by far a bigger boy but every day Bilbo stabs him in the stomach and every day he collapses, groaning and flailing in agony.  
  
Thorin watches on with a grin but quickly dashes it away when Bilbo runs to his tower.  
  
“Oh, fair Princess!” Bilbo shouts. “The dragon is dead and you can come down now! I have saved you!”  
  
And Thorin descends his tower and lets Bilbo kiss his hand and stares at him for a while. Bilbo begins to look a bit concerned and Thorin decides it’s now or never. But, he thinks, there’s nothing to fear, not with Bilbo. He leans in…  
  
Thorin shoves Bilbo to the ground.  
  
Bilbo falls with a cry and lands on his rear end. He blinks a few times up at Thorin and looks as stunned as Thorin feels. But then his eyes begin to fill with tears, the opposite of what Thorin has ever wanted in his life.  
  
Thorin joins Bilbo in bursting into tears and they both run in separate directions, their friendship no doubt destroyed.  
  
But when Thorin tells his mother of his terrible deed in the evening and tries to understand why it seems she only wants to laugh, she suggests bringing a gift to Bilbo in the morning. They spend some time thinking of what to get; a drawing or chocolates or flowers. But Thorin’s drawings are very poor and he remembers that Bilbo prefers sweets like cake over chocolates and that he’s seen Bilbo picking daisies on the school’s front lawn before.  
  
His mother takes him to the grocery store and lets him pick out a bouquet of carnations and forget-me-nots. He will give them to Bilbo and apologize and maybe even confess his love like those movies his mother watches.  
  
The school day dawns bright and early and Thorin eagerly awaits the bus. His mother fusses with his shirt and hair and Thorin scowls at her until she laughs and sends him off. The bus seems to take longer than usual to get to school and Thorin can do nothing but fidget and glare at anyone eyeing the flowers until it finally stops and they are allowed off.  
  
Thorin races through the school and to the playground where he knows he will find Bilbo. And indeed he does, except Bilbo isn’t playing but sitting on the bleachers looking very miserable. Thorin approaches with caution and tries not to squeeze the flowers too tightly.  
  
“Bilbo.”  
  
Bilbo looks up from his knees and frowns at Thorin.  
  
“I…” Thorin trails off before thrusting the flowers at Bilbo and staring at the ground. “I got you these! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, I, I… I never want to hurt you. You’re my best friend.”  
  
Bilbo sniffles and Thorin quickly looks at him in shock, for surely he has not made Bilbo cry again. But Bilbo is not crying. He is grinning as widely as he can. Thorin can do nothing but gape at something so bright.  
  
And then Bilbo is leaping off the bench and into Thorin’s arms to hug him tightly. “You’re my best friend too, Thorin.”  
  
Thorin’s cheeks feel warm as he pats Bilbo’s back. They separate and Bilbo takes the flowers and beams between them and Thorin. “I love you and I would like to kiss you,” Thorin says loudly.  
  
Bilbo laughs even though he turns very red. “I love you too, Thorin!” he says cheerfully and presents Thorin with his cheek.  
  
And Thorin can do nothing but kiss him and hug him again before Bilbo suggests a game of orcs and dwarves before class starts.  
  
He floats through the rest of his day, month and the next few years to come.  
  
——  
  
“He’s daydreaming again.”  
  
“Have we figured out about what yet?”  
  
“There can only be one thing.”  
  
“He’ll never admit it!”  
  
Thorin gazes out of the window in his office as he remembers a day very long ago. He is vaguely aware that his nephews are talking about him as they sit on the sofa in the corner of the room but he doesn’t particularly care, not until his alarm goes off.  
  
“Uncle. Uncle!”  
  
Thorin startles and sits up straight as he looks down at his blaring phone on the desk. He hadn’t even _heard_ his alarm. And is it that time already?  
  
“Sorry,” he mutters to Kili before frowning at him. “Are you ready?”  
  
Kili rolls his eyes. “I’ve been ready! Let’s get this over with.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have that kind of attitude about it,” Thorin says firmly as he stands and puts on his suit jacket before sliding his phone into his pocket. “Knowing how you’re progressing is important.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Kili says as he waves as flippantly as any fourteen year old can.  
  
Parent-teacher conferences. Thorin was never fond of them when he was young either and he suspects it’s especially daunting for Kili today. Dis is sick and Vili is stuck at work, therefore leaving Thorin to do his duty as uncle and go to the damn school and listen to how Kili is failing English but exceeding in Math. Fili was often the opposite, now that Thorin thinks about it, but he’s gotten better in the last two years.  
  
To think he’ll be out of high school very shortly.  
  
Thorin tries not to think of his grey hairs too much. He’s got bigger problems anyway.  
  
Bilbo fucking Baggins.  
  
His best friend through kindergarten and the next few school years until Thorin and his family moved away. He went with a broken heart and they tried to call each other as often as they could but it had eventually stopped. And Thorin remembers very well the little crush he had on Bilbo (and may have never quite gotten over) and how often he made a fool of himself in front of him.  
  
When Kili had first mentioned Mister Baggins, Thorin didn’t think it was possible it was Bilbo. Merely a coincidence until Kili showed him proof of it on the school’s website. Which, naturally, had a picture. Of a very grown and very cute Bilbo Baggins.  
  
Thorin is doomed.  
  
He knows he’s quiet on the drive to the school but his nephews keep themselves well entertained. They don’t ask questions and Thorin knows it’s because he’s quiet most of the time and feels a twinge in his heart at the thought. He’s never done well around people and now he’s off to meet his childhood crush for the first time in decades.  
  
His palms begin to sweat when he parks and by the time he’s following Fili and Kili through the halls, his heart is hammering uncomfortably within his tight chest. Fili looks at him oddly a few times but he merely shakes his head and attempts to smile. It only makes Fili look at him even more oddly.  
  
They sit in chairs that are placed outside of Mister Baggins’s classroom and Thorin bobs his knee and wrings his hands together even as his nephews stare at him.  
  
“…do you want me to go in instead, Uncle Thorin?” Fili asks after a while.  
  
“Fili, you’re not even eighteen,” Thorin mumbles. “And it has to be a parent or guardian anyway.”  
  
“You look really pale though,” Kili says with concern. His eyes widen. “And now really red! Are you okay?”  
  
Thorin clears his throat and scratches his neck. “I’m fine! Maybe I’m coming down with something. It was a long day at work too.”  
  
They don’t look overly convinced but just then the door to the classroom opens and… two parents step out.  
  
“She’s really doing very well! I’m happy with her progress thus far,” a voice says and a third person appears behind the couple.  
  
Thorin gapes at Bilbo Baggins. He isn’t very tall, a good head or so shorter than Thorin and his hair is just as curly and his eyes are just as bright as Thorin remembers. He wears glasses now and a sweater vest and truly awful beige loafers and Thorin thinks he has never seen a man so wonderful.  
  
Wonderful, wonderful Bilbo Baggins.  
  
“Ah, Kili! And hello, Fili,” Bilbo says as he takes notice of them. He turns to Thorin and smiles, his eyebrows raised. “Oh! And who might you be? I was expecting Mister and Missus Goldson.”  
  
Thorin feels something much like a dagger getting stabbed into his heart and stands, quickly offering his hand to Bilbo. “I’m, uh… Thorin Durin. My sister couldn’t make it, she’s ill and her husband has a night shift at the hospital, so they… sent me. I hope that’s alright. If it’s not…” he trails off, not particularly sure what he might even do if it’s not alright.  
  
And then he notices the way Bilbo is gaping at him.  
  
His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are wide and he doesn’t appear to be breathing.  
  
Thorin gapes back as his heart makes a little leap of joy this time.  
  
Bilbo lets out a great sigh. “Thorin! Of course it’s you,” he says and begins to smile warmly. “I thought you looked familiar. Bit taller now though. Goodness, it’s been a very long time.”  
  
“Yes,” Thorin agrees and smiles in return as he looks at Bilbo’s hideous loafers rather than his eyes. “Good to see you.”  
  
“And you as well,” Bilbo says, sounding faintly amused. “Come in, won’t you? Not you, yet, Kili and certainly not you, Fili!”  
  
Fili and Kili are grinning widely when Thorin glances at them and Kili is furiously texting without hardly looking at his phone. Thorin feels his nose heat up and glowers at them until they studiously look away.  
  
He follows Bilbo into a neat and tidy classroom. There are posters on the wall with amusing quotes about student life and about ten bookshelves lining the walls overflowing with literature. Plants line the windowsills and there are flowers on Bilbo’s desk. It’s an inviting atmosphere and Thorin feels himself relax somewhat as he walks to the table set up for their conference.  
  
Bilbo gestures for him to seat himself first and he does so while trying not to stare too openly.  
  
“How… how are you?” Thorin manages to ask.  
  
“Oh, very well!” Bilbo says brightly and with a grin. “Doing what I do best. Teaching our youth.”  
  
Thorin smiles. “It suits you,” he says quietly. “You talked about being a teacher or… what was it again?”  
  
“A jockey,” Bilbo says and coughs a little. “Ended up allergic to horse hair.”  
  
They both grin and laugh and Thorin suddenly feels as if he has been thrust into a time long passed. And it’s not a bad feeling.  
  
“And you?” Bilbo asks.  
  
“Architect,” Thorin says with a smile.  
  
“Not a doctor then!”  
  
“…ended up allergic to people.”  
  
Bilbo laughs. “An architect suits you as well, you know. You always liked to build things.”  
  
Thorin can feel his cheeks are getting hot again and looks down at the desk. His chest is warm too and he thinks it’s because Bilbo remembers something about him. “I’m not half bad at it either.”  
  
“No, I imagine you’ve done very well for yourself,” Bilbo says with a hint of fondness.  
  
They simply gaze at each other for a while until Bilbo clears his throat and picks up a file on the desk. “Ah, so, erm, perhaps we should speak about Kili’s progress,” he says and pushes his glasses up on his nose.  
  
Thorin agrees and watches in a bit of awe at the rant Bilbo goes on. It’s mostly positive when it comes to Kili’s attitude and enthusiasm in class but not particularly great when it comes to his academic performance. But Bilbo swears that he will see Kili’s grades come up before the end of the year because, as Thorin already knows, Kili is just as intelligent as his brother and simply over thinks his classes and homework. Bilbo seems very fond of the lad and Thorin feels his heart well with something that’s a bit too frightening to name.  
  
He pulls out a list from his pocket and asks the questions Dis wanted him to ask and Bilbo seems delighted to answer them all. He mentions that parents don’t ask many questions most of the time and says that he’s always been fond of Dis’s focus on her children, the way it should be.  
  
“All in all, I’d tell your sister to encourage Kili as she always does but not worry too much about him. He and I are working together to get him on track and he’s already improved,” Bilbo finishes with a smile.  
  
Thorin’s heart flutters. “Good,” he says. “She’ll be glad to hear it. Thank you, Bilbo.”  
  
“It’s been my pleasure,” Bilbo says. He coughs. “Erm, I was wondering…”  
  
This time it’s Thorin’s stomach that gives a jolt. “Yes?” he asks quietly.  
  
“Well, erm,” Bilbo says and pulls out his phone. “I was wondering if you’d like my number to, erm, have in case you need to… ask me any questions about Kili.”  
  
Thorin cannot help but grin. “Is that all I can call you about?”  
  
Bilbo fiddles with his sweater. “Well,” he says breathlessly. “Perhaps you can call about more if you were so inclined.”  
  
And if Thorin’s hands tremble when he enters Bilbo’s name and number into his phone, Bilbo doesn’t mention it.  
  
Bilbo invites Kili into the classroom and discusses his progress with him as well, though a much shortened version than what he gave Thorin. He is positive and motivated and by the time he is done speaking, Kili is grinning widely. He asks a few questions of his own before their time is up but Bilbo promises to continue the conversation on Monday.  
  
He walks Thorin and Kili out of the classroom and Kili rushes to his brother to whisper in his ear.  
  
Thorin’s a bit worried about that but he turns to Bilbo and smiles. “Thank you. For everything,” he says quietly.  
  
Bilbo smiles warmly. “And you,” he says as he glances quickly at the boys. “And… I’ll speak with you soon?”  
  
Thorin nods eagerly. “Definitely,” he says and extends his hand.  
  
Bilbo takes it and the touch lingers until Fili clears his throat loudly and Kili snickers. Thorin mumbles a quick goodbye to Bilbo and strides off down the hallway with Fili and Kili at his heels. Shockingly enough they are silent on the entire walk to the car and Thorin thinks he might not have made as big of a fool of himself as he usually does.  
  
“Uncle’s in looooove,” Kili singsongs from the backseat.  
  
Apparently Thorin thought wrong.  
  
“Uncle and Bilbo, sitting in a tree—”  
  
“Guys,” Thorin groans and thankfully his nephews merely burst into laughter while pulling out their phones to no doubt text Dis and Vili… and Dwalin and Balin and everyone else, knowing Thorin’s luck.  
  
And, for once, Thorin doesn’t particularly mind, because Bilbo is simply… wonderful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. I'm so sorry my nephews ruined your wonderful flowers, can I make it up to you by inviting you to dinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain)

The last two weeks have been grueling, filled with tests and essays and terrible first marks before the Easter holidays. His students were miserable and stressed and therefore he had been miserable and stressed. Most of them ended up doing well, well enough that Gandalf ordered pizza for lunch on the last day of school, as well as for only entertaining movies to be watched. That had cheered everyone up, Bilbo included and he supposed going out on a bit of high note was all he could ask for.  
  
But now he has two weeks off. Two glorious weeks to be a layabout and do absolutely nothing at all. Not even write… unless the mood truly strikes him, of course. He plans to cook and eat good food, watch good television and read good books while generally avoiding the outside world.  
  
He is doing that now, reading a novel he was recommended by Gandalf and is entirely immersed in it. Gandalf and he might have been at odds half the time but their taste in books is nearly the same, as much as Bilbo hates to admit it. Half the books in his study are recommendations and he is sure half those in Gandalf’s are as well.  
  
It’s a lovely spring day, the sun shining warmly through the windows in his living room. He had baked a few loaves of bread this morning and his home still smells of them, hearty and comforting.  
  
…if only there weren’t children outside screaming.  
  
Bilbo sighs as he settles more into the couch and attempts to ignore their shrieking. They’re clearly playing but he doesn’t have any neighbors surrounding him who have children. The neighborhood grew with him and his parents and most children that once lived here are grown and out in the world on their own. These must be visiting children.  
  
The screaming gets a little more intense, a little closer, mixed in with giggling and Bilbo huffs. Don’t children know Saturday afternoon is a time for peace and quiet?  
  
Apparently not, as it sounds as if they are in his garden now.  
  
Bilbo sits up and narrows his eyes as he listens to the voices growing louder just outside of his window down in the front sitting room.  
  
“Mum likes red flowers, Fili!”  
  
“They aren’t yours! Put them back! Right now, Kili, before we get in trouble!”  
  
“I don’t know how to put them back!”  
  
“Just dig a hole and… and that’ll make them stay alive!”  
  
Bilbo feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach and he yelps as he leaps from the couch. “My tulips!”  
  
He runs down the hall and opens his front door to burst into the garden. He looks left and at his flowerbeds and gapes at what he sees.  
  
Two boys, one blond, perhaps twelve, and the other brunet, perhaps seven, both startle badly at the sound of Bilbo’s door opening. They gape back at him and the little brown-haired boy quickly hides three utterly destroyed tulips behind his back, two missing their roots and one broken in half.  
  
The front half of his flowerbed is ruined, his tulips dug up and discarded for apparently not being good enough. There are mounds of soil littering the grass on the other side of the bricks lining the flowerbeds and the smaller boy has a few smears of it on his cheeks and brow.  
  
The older one quickly puts his hand on what Bilbo assumes is his brother’s shoulder and scowls at Bilbo, as if telling him if he plans on screaming at his brother, he’ll have to go through him first.  
  
Bilbo quickly goes through the five stages of grief and when he lands on acceptance, he merely sighs and smiles a bit. “If you had wanted flowers for your mother, you only needed to ask. Now they won’t last very long in water. Oh, it’s alright!”  
  
The smaller boy’s eyes are filling with tears and he drops the tulips on the ground to put his hands over his face. He begins to hiccup and cry. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Mister, I didn’t mean to hurt the flowers!” he wails.  
  
“I told you,” the blond boy hisses but he’s rubbing his brother’s back with the scowl still on his face. “He’s little, he didn’t mean to,” he says to Bilbo fiercely.  
  
Bilbo coughs and nods. “Of course he didn’t! I’m sure he only wanted to make a lovely bouquet like you find in the grocery store,” he says with another smile. “Isn’t that right?”  
  
The boy nods as he sniffles and rubs his red-rimmed eyes. He glances at Bilbo before swiftly averting his gaze and looking down at his colorful purple trainers. “Mum likes red flowers,” he whispers.  
  
“Fili! Kili!” a voice shouts.  
  
They all startle and look toward the sidewalk. A man is stomping his way up it, a familiar scowl on his face - familiar in both the frequency in which Bilbo sees it and the familiarity of it on the blond boy’s face.  
  
“What are you doing?” Thorin Durin demands of the boys as he enters Bilbo’s yard and comes to stand behind them. His eyes roam over them quickly and seem to focus on Kili in particularly before they slowly turn toward the flowerbeds. There’s a moment where he simply stares and then sighs through his nose like an angry bull.  
  
“Fili, Kili…”  
  
Thorin is Bilbo’s neighbor. He lives about three houses down and Bilbo has never seen him with children before but perhaps he’s never had occasion to. Thorin is only outside when he goes on his runs or takes his motorbike around for a joyride and these boys certainly haven’t been with him for either of those things.  
  
Once upon a time Bilbo had a small crush on Thorin. He is very tall and very handsome, with black hair and a thick beard and the bluest eyes Bilbo has ever seen. He had greeted Thorin when he was moving in and though Thorin hadn’t been entirely friendly, he still shook Bilbo’s hand and thanked him for the welcome into the neighborhood. Sometimes he even returned Bilbo’s waves of hello, if somewhat begrudgingly.  
  
And if Bilbo watches Thorin run or drive by his home with a longing sigh, well, he is the only one to know it.  
  
So _once upon a time_ might have still really meant _currently_ but no one needed to know that either.  
  
Kili looks as if he is going to cry again and is avoiding Thorin’s eyes while he fidgets. Fili himself looks conflicted, as if he doesn’t know if he should protect his brother or let him get told off for doing something he himself knew better than.  
  
“They wanted flowers for their mother,” Bilbo says quickly and Thorin’s blue eyes turn to him. “I told them that was perfectly fine and to pick what they wanted.”  
  
Thorin stares at him for a while, long enough to make him squirm, before he merely raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through Bilbo’s blatant lie.  
  
“Well,” Bilbo says. “They might have forgotten to ask first but that’s alright. Flowers can always be bought and planted again, can’t they?” He smiles at the boys and gestures for them to come closer. “Here, now, we’ll properly pick the red ones for your mother.”  
  
“Mister Baggins, my nephews don’t deserve—”  
  
“To have subpar flowers, of course!” Bilbo quickly intervenes as he shoots Thorin a bit of a glare. “Only the best for their mother.”  
  
“Their mother won’t be back for another week and a half,” Thorin sighs. “We’ll get flowers from the store for her then, guys. Apologize to Mister Baggins for ruining his garden.”  
  
Kili sniffles but bravely looks Bilbo in the eye. “I’m very sorry for ruining your garden, Mister Baggins,” he says, his voice only wobbling a bit.  
  
“You didn’t ruin anything, Kili,” Bilbo says with a smile. “But thank you very much. No harm done.”  
  
Fili and Kili look skeptical at this, as does Thorin, but he is peering at Bilbo with considering eyes rather than anger-filled ones.  
  
“Let me make it up to you,” he says suddenly. “How much do these flowers cost?”  
  
Bilbo chuckles. “Not much, actually. It’s truly fine, Mister Durin,” he says. “You don’t have to give me money for them. I enjoy shopping the tulip farms anyway.”  
  
“You go straight to the farm?” Thorin asks, his eyebrows raised.  
  
“Well, yes! They’re freshly picked there and offer many more colors than the stores do.”  
  
Thorin stares between Bilbo and his nephews, clearly thinking hard about something. Bilbo tries not to pay attention to the endearing wrinkle between his brows.  
  
“Let us take you,” he blurts. His nose turns a fine shade of crimson. “Let the boys buy you some to make up for what they’ve done. They have Easter money enough for it.”  
  
For whatever reason this doesn’t seem to be a punishment for Fili and Kili. They both brighten, Kili especially, and he comes to stand in front of Bilbo and takes up his hand. He gives it a tug. “We’ll buy you flowers from the tulip farm, Mister Baggins!”  
  
“Yeah!” Fili says quickly. “We always pick out the best flowers, Mum says so. Can we come with you?”  
  
Bilbo gapes between the family. “O-Oh, well…” he trails off and blinks a few times. The last time he went out to the flower farms with anyone else was his own mother and he can nearly hear her whispering in his ear _you’ve always wanted a chance to spend some time with him, haven’t you?_  
  
He clears his throat and straightens out his shirt. “Well, erm… yes. Yes! That would be quite nice, I think. It’s a very fine place an hour or so away from here, with lemonade stands and frozen yogurt.”  
  
The boys grin and look to their uncle, who is peering at Bilbo with a slight smile.  
  
“Sounds like… a good time,” he says as he looks at his nephews. “Maybe we can take Mister Baggins to dinner afterward.”  
  
The boys cheer this time, throwing their fists into the air before Kili flings himself at Bilbo. He hugs him tightly around the waist and before Bilbo can even think to respond, he’s hugging his uncle too.  
  
“Pizza, pizza, pizza…” the boys begin to chant.  
  
Thorin and Bilbo laugh, exchanging a look.  
  
“How about that nice Italian place you guys like to go to instead?”  
  
Bilbo feels as if he can’t even say no to this offer and rather like he’s being put on the spot.  
  
It’s exhilarating.  
  
“Yes!” the boys yell. “When can we go?” Fili asks.  
  
“Whenever Mister Baggins has some free time. I’m off work, so…” Thorin says as he looks at Bilbo with a grin.  
  
Bilbo can do nothing but grin back. “As am I! How about… hmm, Tuesday?”  
  
“But that’s six days away!” Kili cries.  
  
“Three, Kili,” Fili corrects as he snickers.  
  
Bilbo is feeling rather the same way. “It’ll be here before you know it,” he says to Kili with a wink, a bold-faced lie. “That sounds wonderful to me. Thank you! I’m looking forward to it.”  
  
“As are we,” Thorin says with a fond smile down at his nephews. “Come on, guys, I was making lunch, it’s waiting on the counter.”  
  
The boys cheer again and yell goodbyes to Bilbo before they tear out of the garden and run down the sidewalk toward Thorin’s home.  
  
“…it’s only sandwiches and potato salad,” Thorin says as he watches them until they are safely within his home. He turns to Bilbo and smiles. “But… we have plenty.”  
  
Bilbo knows he’s starting to blush but Thorin’s ears are a bit red too so he’s not as embarrassed by it. “Oh! Well, goodness, that’s treating me to quite a lot of things, you know!”  
  
“It would be my pleasure,” Thorin murmurs in his sinfully deep voice.  
  
“Oh... I suppose then… I’d love to join you,” Bilbo says as he tries not to float away, his heart thudding wildly. “I have a pie I made yesterday that I can bring, if you’d like? It’s blackberry, not sure if the boys would like it…”  
  
Thorin looks rather awed suddenly and a smile blossoms across his face, his eyes brightening. “They have Easter sweets… but I love blackberry pie.”  
  
“Well,” Bilbo says with a growing smile of his own. “Well then, isn’t that simply perfect?”  
  
And it really, truly is, for that day and the next and the many years that follow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. THIS is the hobbit my brother is in love with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [telltalelily](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/telltalelily)

Dis had arrived in Erebor with little fanfare. She had ridden ahead of the caravan and entered quietly through the gates with Dwalin’s help, half a day before the caravan was meant to arrive.  
  
She had grown impatient waiting to see her sons, who she knew had been injured in battle and which had kept her ability to sleep on the road even poorer than it usually was. Thorin was injured too, yes, but he had led her sons into this and she knew he lived, so she did not bother writing ahead.  
  
The boys were out of the healers when she arrived and she had gone straight to their rooms and ignored how her heart had pounded to yet again be in the royal quarters of Erebor. They had taken Frerin’s room for now and if she wept a little harder when embracing them, they wouldn’t know the difference.  
  
Her brother had been next, in his own rooms that once belonged to Thrain. She had a feeling she knew why Thorin was not in Thror’s rooms and could not blame him for it.  
  
He had stared at her in stunned silence when she had entered.  
  
“You live then,” she had said.  
  
“Aye,” he had responded.  
  
“Good.”  
  
And if she had swept out with a cold shoulder turned to him, perhaps Thorin understood as well as she expected him to. She would embrace him on the morrow and rejoice then, once she had a chance to sleep by her sons’ sides and truly begin to believe they were whole and hale. If not with a few more scars.  
  
Dis had been well aware that there was a hobbit in the mountain. A hobbit that had saved them, according to all the letters she had received over these last few months. A hobbit solely responsible for returning Erebor to them.  
  
A hobbit that had taken her brother’s heart.  
  
She had too many things to do, too many matters to settle in the coming days and avoided meeting Bilbo Baggins. It had been easy, as he was busy himself, helping to restore Erebor to her former glory. He had a clever mind as everyone seemed to often want to tell her and had been helping Thorin with his kingly duties the entire time he could not leave his bed. And now he was responsible for kitchen restorations and taking stock of food supplies and their costs.  
  
And warming Thorin’s bed, perhaps?  
  
It is not until the night of the great feast, one week after her arrival, that Dis sees the hobbit for the first time.  
  
He is mingling with Thorin’s company and there is laughter bright in his eyes as he speaks with them. He looks at peace, content, and Dis wonders how a hobbit from the west, so unassuming, could have possibly done the deeds he has been praised for.  
  
He’s smaller than a dwarf certainly and leaner as well. He has pointed ears which is unsettling enough but his feet are truly without wear, something she hadn’t particularly believed when Kili wrote her about him. They are covered in hair as brown and curly as what is atop his head and Dis wonders what his appeal is. He is the exact opposite of a dwarf in every way possible.  
  
And yet… Thorin was never particularly one for courting dwarves. No one at all, in fact.  
  
Dis watches Bilbo with her eyes narrowed as she drinks her ale, awaiting the announcement for the feast.  
  
There are many hundreds of dwarves in the hall, many familiar to her and others not - Dain’s army is still here. She knows he must be to help with running the mountain and she is fond enough of her cousin but she is eager to see the mountain be filled with the dwarves of Erebor rather than the Iron Hills.  
  
“My lady,” a familiar voice says.  
  
Dis looks at Balin as he approaches her with a bright smile and a tankard of ale in his own hand. He is dressed in a fine red tunic with golden stitching and his boots are polished to a sheen. A king’s advisor indeed.  
  
Dis smiles. “Balin,” she greets and resumes her post watching Bilbo.  
  
“Have you met him yet?”  
  
“Not quite. I will shortly I imagine.”  
  
“What do you think thus far?”  
  
Dis chuckles. “What do I think?” she repeats as she looks slyly at Balin. “I wonder if this is _truly_ who my brother loves.”  
  
There’s a slight rustle behind a pillar a few feet away and Dis glances at it with her eyes narrowed. She swears she had seen the edge of a fur coat but perhaps it was simply her imagination.  
  
“Well, he certainly is,” Balin says with a fond smile. “Bilbo is a brave soul and we owe him our lives many times over. I think you’ll like him… if you give him a chance, that is.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly.  
  
“And why should I? The one who has stolen my brother away from me?” she asks with her voice raised and hears a gasp from behind the pillar.  
  
She smiles to herself as Balin eyes her suspiciously.  
  
“What good is Master Baggins? A soft, round and strange creature from a strange place. I have heard tale of his great deeds and yet I was not there to witness them. How can I know the bravery of this hobbit without seeing it for myself?”  
  
She’s still speaking loudly and Balin is gaping at her enough to make her bite her tongue so she doesn’t laugh.  
  
“You don’t believe our letters? Fili and Kili’s letters?”  
  
“They embellish,” Dis announces. “All that I can be certain of is that this hobbit spends his time in our kitchens, feasting on our food.”  
  
Balin continues to stare at her in stunned silence and she finally takes pity on him. She winks as she touches his arm and gestures toward the pillar.  
  
He looks at it and her again with a questioning glance. She nods and he sighs in relief as he rolls his eyes skyward.  
  
“I can only attempt to assure you, my lady, that Bilbo Baggins is every bit as wonderful as we have always said.”  
  
“He comes into the mountain and expects to find a place here? By my brother’s side? A _hobbit?_ He expects to rule Erebor and yet he cannot even find a pair of shoes! His ears are those of an elf’s and his hair is too short to even place any braids in. I can only say one thing about Master Baggins…”  
  
And if Thorin suddenly appears from behind the pillar and begins to storm his way toward her with eyes as dark as a thunderstorm, Dis pretends she doesn’t see.  
  
She smiles. “And that is that I like him.”  
  
Thorin abruptly stops walking and blinks once before he begins to look truly confused, his brow furrowed. Dis pretends to take notice of him.  
  
“Hello, dear brother!” she calls cheerfully and gestures him over.  
  
Balin is shaking his head and sighing the way he always does whenever he must spend more than a few moments with the Durins and Dis smirks at him.  
  
Thorin approaches cautiously as he eyes Dis and comes to a stop next to Balin. “Dis. Balin,” he greets. “The feast is to be announced in a few moments.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Balin says flatly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have Dori to find and complain to.”  
  
He’s off with a flippant wave from Dis and a fierce frown from Thorin.  
  
“Complain of what?” he asks suspiciously.  
  
“Eavesdropping kings, I imagine,” Dis says as she wraps her arm around Thorin’s and begins to lead him toward the head table at the back of the room.  
  
Thorin stiffens against her and she laughs loudly.  
  
“You are not subtle, Thorin. You never have been,” she says as she pats his hand.  
  
Thorin grumbles under his breath before huffing and glancing sidelong at Dis. He finally relaxes and smiles faintly. “You like him?”  
  
“Of course I do! You do and that’s enough for me. Now, introduce us before I am too far in my cups.”  
  
“Very well,” Thorin say, sounding amused.  
  
They approach Bilbo and his smile disappears when his eyes fall on Dis. He fiddles with his waistcoat and clears his throat numerous times before shaking Dis’s hand and politely telling her how wonderful it is to meet her. And when Dis takes him in her arms and whispers into his ear that she is indebted to him for all he has done, he too relaxes and laughs and smiles as charmingly as she expects of him.  
  
She watches them throughout the night, their easy chemistry and fleeting glances. Their small and lingering touches, their secrets whispered between themselves and she smiles.  
  
She smiles because her sons live and her brother rules Erebor the way he was always meant to and because he has found his true love. She smiles because she is truly happy and she smiles because she knows the rest of their years will be filled with peace.  
  
The way it was always meant to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5\. To put the spark back in our marriage, we took a getaway vacation to a real working ranch and now we're living the plot of City Slickers. I don't think I can touch you again because you delivered a calf with your bare hands. Why did I agree with this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [angelsallfire](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire)
> 
> It went a bit sideways (read: more fluffy and sanitary) but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Thorin thinks that he might have seen the signs for the last two years and yet had been in denial until now.  
  
Everything had been going fine since the day he married Bilbo. Better than fine… it had been his own personal fairy tale. Bilbo was as perfect as he was the day Thorin had met him and he remained that perfect every day after. Twenty solid, wonderful years with the man he loved more than anything in this world by his side.  
  
But then… Bilbo’s book had taken off seven years ago. His precious novel _The Ring,_ a fantasy series aimed at young adults, had sold out in the vast majority of stores around the world. Everything that Bilbo had wanted, Thorin thought, and he had never been more proud of his husband. Bilbo quit his job teaching due to the fame and not particularly needing money again for the rest of his life. He wrote two sequels, the last released only two years ago and there is already talk of a trilogy of movies to be released starting within the next two years.  
  
Bilbo had seemed to be floating through his days and Thorin never saw him without some sort of smile on his face.  
  
Until a year and a half ago, that is.  
  
Nothing had happened that Thorin could ever pinpoint. They were happy one day and then Bilbo began to smile less and gaze out of the kitchen’s bay window in silence more. Thorin worried, yes, but not as much as he should have. And to think he had neglected his husband for so long always left his heart twinging in pain.  
  
Then Bilbo had finally said it.  
  
“I’m _bored,_ Thorin.”  
  
And what could Thorin do about that? He’d gone through a bit of a crisis thinking Bilbo was fed up with him and only came out of it when Bilbo read his mind as he always did and had assured him it had nothing to do with him. That he was simply bored with nothing to do in his life but write and do interviews and visit family. He had wanted something more.  
  
Thorin had suggested Bilbo go back to work and teach writing classes but Bilbo had simply waved that idea off. He hadn’t wanted to teach again but he wanted something to occupy his time. Something to give him a bit more joy where Thorin could not.  
  
Thorin had been googling a lot lately. There were many, many things he had suggested to Bilbo but none of them seemed to tickle his fancy. That had not stopped Thorin, however, who spent his late evenings in bed with his laptop searching for _something._  
  
And then it had hit him.  
  
Scotland.  
  
Dain had a farm in Scotland. A farm he often used as vacation destinations for rich couples looking to escape from their big city lives and experience nature in all of its glory. He had cows and sheep and goats, horses and dogs and chickens and more, Thorin had been sure of it.  
  
Perhaps it would not entirely solve Bilbo’s boredom but it was something. Something _different,_ something exciting. And Thorin had taken a leap of faith when he had called Dain and asked him to reserve a week for Bilbo and him to visit. He even offered to pay more to have it exclusively to themselves but Dain had shot down the money. Most of it anyway.  
  
Dain was Thorin’s cousin but they had not seen each other in nearly a decade. Thorin had to go to Scotland for work and had met his cousin in a tavern there for a few beers one night. They had both been disappointed Bilbo wasn’t there, for Thorin to have his company and for Dain to finally meet his husband.  
  
And, Thorin had thought, Dain was not nearly as nosy as the rest of his family. He would be a good host.  
  
He had purchased plane tickets before consulting with Bilbo and had, sweating, presented them to him. Bilbo had stared and stared and Thorin had feared the worst. But then Bilbo had looked at him and there had been a grin on his face, wider and more genuine than Thorin had seen a while, and he knew he had found some sort of solution.  
  
So one month later they packed their bags and boarded a plane for Scotland.  
  
They are currently driving through the countryside in the company of a large man named Beorn, who works on Dain’s farm. He drives an old, rusty pickup truck but it handles the rough backroads and hills of the Scottish Highlands very well.  
  
It is a sunny day, bright and just a bit cool. There is only a dusting of clouds above them and Thorin smiles to himself as he gazes out of the window before turning to Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo is gazing out of his own window with a grin, his nose nearly pressed to the glass and Thorin has to chuckle.  
  
“Ready to spend your days with cattle?”  
  
“Very ready,” Bilbo says as he looks at Thorin, his eyes bright. He takes Thorin’s hand and lifts it to press a kiss to his wrist. “Thank you, my dear.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Thorin says fondly.  
  
They arrive at the farm after a little while more of driving and Beorn begins to unload their luggage, refusing their help.  
  
“You’re guests,” he merely mutters before he is off, carrying both of their bags as if they weigh nothing.  
  
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” a booming voice yells.  
  
Thorin turns and looks at the massive figure of his cousin Dain stomping down from his fairly large and beautiful farmhouse. He’s as tall and as wide as Thorin remembers him with a head and beard of shockingly red hair, though half of it is turning grey. It makes Thorin not feel as old as the few greys lining his temples and sprouting in his beard normally make him feel.  
  
“Dain,” he says and holds out his hand.  
  
But Dain merely bats it aside and throws his arm around Thorin, fairly lifting him into the air. Thorin tries not to squawk but from the way he can hear Bilbo laughing he suspects he failed.  
  
Dain mercifully drops him and claps him hard enough on the shoulder to sink him into the soft grass below.  
  
“And you!” he yells as he looks at Bilbo. “The one and only Bilbo! Long have I waited to meet you, laddie!”  
  
Bilbo seems to realize he is next and begins frantically waving his hands but Dain lifts him anyway and hugs him tightly around the middle.  
  
“O-Oh goodness,” Bilbo gasps and stumbles when Dain lets him free. “It’s… it’s certainly nice to meet you, Dain. Thank you for hosting us! Beautiful country!”  
  
“Have you ever been?” Dain asks with a blinding grin.  
  
“No, actually, I haven’t. But Thorin had the perfect idea for visiting,” Bilbo says and smiles as he rubs his ribs. “And what a lovely home!”  
  
Dain’s home is at the top of a small incline. It is magnificent with grey bricks and white trim and bright red double front doors. There is a porch swing surrounded by a small garden filled with flowering bushes and yellow and white wildflowers. Thorin is not altogether surprised to see a few brown hens darting across the grass no doubt in search of insects.  
  
He looks at Bilbo and smiles to see the contentment in his eyes.  
  
“Thank you!” Dain says and gestures forward. “Come in! I’ll show you around inside and out and then we’ll have supper. Beorn is whipping up a fine beef stew! And he’s been baking sourdough bread and honey cakes all morning.”  
  
Bilbo looks more than happy to follow Dain into the home and Thorin trails behind as he looks around the glorious farmland. In the distance are rocky hillsides and an expansive lake that is reflecting the few clouds above. He feels an easy relaxation enter his heart that has not been there for some time and is glad that, for once, he had an excellent idea.  
  
They tour the house which is as beautiful inside as out, filled with cushy armchairs and elegant throw rugs, gorgeously carved tables and cabinets, which Dain mentions Beorn had done himself. Their room is just as lovely with a four poster bed made of oak and true deerskin blankets covering it.  
  
The farm is next and is larger than Thorin had been imagining. There is a herd of Highland Cattle and a few Aberdeen Angus join them in the high grass that slopes steadily upwards toward a hill. There are Cheviot sheep with a few border collies herding them home and who join their small party when Dain whistles. They visit the Highland and Shetland ponies in a massive field and when the sun begins to set they help Dain round up some of his chickens into their coop.  
  
It’s perfect, Thorin thinks, and he can tell from the look of elation on Bilbo’s face that he thinks so as well. It makes all of it worth it.  
  
They feast on stew and bread and honey cakes and drink ale that Beorn brews himself. Dain can’t stay up very late himself and Thorin and Bilbo are tired enough from their travels that they retire to bed when he does.  
  
Thorin kisses Bilbo good night and watches as he falls asleep much more quickly than normal with a smile never quite leaving him.  
  
——  
  
Bilbo sneezes again.  
  
Thorin glances at him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”  
  
Bilbo huffs a little and sits up straight in his saddle. “It’s just the horse hair. Always gotten to me.”  
  
Dain laughs from ahead of them where he is riding his pony. “You’re brave for riding then, laddie!”  
  
Bilbo sneezes and wipes his nose with his handkerchief. “Thank you,” he mumbles and glances at Thorin. “Though I do believe I’ll be happier when we’re eating lunch.”  
  
——  
  
Their third day is spent fishing at the lake and their fourth is spent hiking and learning how to herd sheep with Dain’s border collies. Thorin hasn’t gotten his boots this muddy in many years and he knows for a fact Bilbo hasn’t let his become as filthy as they are now since he was a child. But he is laughing and warming Thorin’s heart more and more by the day.  
  
Dain and Bilbo get along very well, often exchanging stories about Thorin’s childhood and adulthood, respectively, and Thorin merely watches on with an amused smile. Dain reminds him of Dwalin but not as much of an arse certainly. He is charming and kind and enjoys a laugh more than anyone Thorin knows.  
  
It’s all going well and is just what Thorin had hoped for.  
  
Until their fifth morning that is.  
  
Thorin is sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of anything occurring in the outside world, until a door bangs open and a loud voice announces, “Wakey wakey, lads! It’s time!”  
  
Thorin and Bilbo sit straight up in bed with gasps and look toward their open door and at Dain’s large silhouette crowding the doorframe. It’s pitch black outside still and Thorin fumbles for the bedside lamp. He turns it on and squints at the sudden brightness.  
  
“What on earth is going on?” Bilbo yelps. “Is everything alright?”  
  
“It’s Bessie!” Dain cries. “She’s in labor! Out of bed with you two! You’re about to witness a calf being born!”  
  
Thorin gapes at Dain for a while before he looks at Bilbo. Bilbo is looking back at him, his hair mussed up and his eyes narrowed as he tries to see without his glasses.  
  
“…I suppose we’d better get dressed then,” he says with no small amount of excitement.  
  
Thorin groans.  
  
If he is to be woken up in the middle of the night for any reason, witnessing a cow giving birth is not what he would have chosen.  
  
Dain leaves to give them a moment to get dressed but Thorin can hear him shouting down the hall for them to hurry their arses up.  
  
Bilbo giggles giddily. “Isn’t this a fine opportunity!” he says and beams in Thorin’s general direction, as Thorin is half under the bed looking for his boots.  
  
“A fine opportunity,” Thorin mumbles as he stands and slips his feet into his boots. “At fucking four thirty-five in the morning.”  
  
Bilbo laughs. “When else will you have a time to help a cow give birth, Thorin? Come on!”  
  
He hurries out the room as Thorin pulls his jacket on with a few choice words for Bessie and her offspring.  
  
Dain leads them out of the house while handing them ominously long gloves and into the warm barn. In a large stall Bessie the Highland cow is laying and peering at them curiously. Beorn is huddled next to her watching her progress and he looks up when Thorin and Bilbo enter with Dain.  
  
“Need help?” he asks Dain.  
  
“I don’t think so, laddie. I’ve got Thorin and Bilbo,” Dain says as he claps Beorn on the shoulder.  
  
Beorn merely raises an eyebrow before he leaves the stall.  
  
Thorin wants to ask for him to come back as he’s already beginning to feel a bit queasy even though nothing is actually happening yet. He doesn’t think so anyway.  
  
Dain inspects Bessie and shouts in triumph. “We’re on, lads! Thorin, over here! I’ll need your strength. No offense, laddie,” he says with a grin at Bilbo.  
  
“By all means,” Bilbo says with a grin in return and a mischievous glint in his eye for Thorin.  
  
Thorin glares a bit before he hunkers down next to Dain in the hay. The bit of lubricant Dain applies to his gloves is even more ominous.   
  
And then Dain lifts Bessie’s tail and Thorin realizes there is a _lot_ happening. There is too much happening to even process because Dain is suddenly instructing him to grab the calf’s legs that are beginning to protrude and pull on them. Thorin thinks he might just faint.  
  
“Only pull when you see her pushin’, Thorin!” Dain says.  
  
“How in the hell do I know when she’s pushing?” Thorin shouts.  
  
“Ye’ll know it!” Dain says, not nearly as loudly as Thorin.  
  
And Thorin does know it. Bessie’s abdomen tightens and the calf slides a bit further out.  
  
“That’s it, laddie, pull!”  
  
“I’m pulling!” Thorin yelps even though he is afraid he may just hurt mother and calf. “Dain, I don’t think I—”  
  
“Legs are turnin’ up. We need to get her out now,” Dain says firmly, no longer any playfulness to his tone. “All the way in, wrap your arm around its thighs and pull as hard as you can, Thorin.”  
  
Thorin gapes.  
  
“Noo, laddie!”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Thorin!”  
  
“You do it!”  
  
“I cannae dae it wi’ ye in th’ way coosin!” Dain hollers in true Scotsman fashion.  
  
Thorin curses and inserts his arm up to his wrist so he can get a hold of the calf’s thighs. He waits for Bessie to breathe out, which seems sensible, before he yanks hard enough that he falls backwards onto his rear, half a calf in his lap.  
  
Dain takes over, telling them he needs to get the calf breathing and Bilbo and Thorin watch on in stunned silence as he does.  
  
Thorin holds his breath until his chest begins to ache but soon the calf coughs and begins to breathe and he lets out a huge sigh of relief. He looks at Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo’s got tears in his eyes but he is grinning down at Thorin with clear pride. “You’ve officially brought life into the world, Thorin,” he says quietly and pats Thorin’s shoulder.  
  
“And well, at that!” Dain says cheerfully as he continues to work on the calf while Bessie lays breathing heavily and exhausted. “A wee girl! She’ll be needin’ a name.”  
  
With the way he winks at Thorin, Thorin supposes he’ll be choosing that name. “Give me a moment,” he mumbles and discards his gloves with a shudder. He stands on shaky knees and slumps into Bilbo’s arms as he trembles more than he’d like Dain to see.  
  
Bilbo chuckles and rubs his back. “Excellent, my love. Excellent,” he says and leans up to kiss Thorin’s cheek. “Just what we came here for, you know. To experience nature.”  
  
“If Bessie the Second gives birth tomorrow, it’s your turn,” Thorin mutters moodily but cannot help a smile when Bilbo laughs. “You name her.”  
  
Bilbo smiles fondly as he looks at Bessie and her calf. The calf is sitting up now and Dain cleans up their gloves and ushers them out of the stall.  
  
“Time to let them meet,” he says.  
  
He leads them outside into a glorious dawn and Thorin breathes in the clear, fresh air as he closes his eyes and turns his face toward the rising sun.  
  
“Sunrise,” Bilbo murmurs. “She came at sunrise. That’s what her name should be.”  
  
Thorin looks at his husband and sees warmth in his hazel eyes. He smiles. “Sunrise,” he says with a sigh. “I like it.”  
  
“Aye, as do I,” Dain says with a smile. “Sunrise she is. You did well, laddie!” He moves to clap Thorin on the shoulder before thinking better of it. “Maybe we should clean ourselves up. Beorn will keep an eye out on the barn.”  
  
Thorin and Bilbo agree and return to the house with Dain and go to their respective rooms. Thorin strips eagerly and is in the shower before it has warmed up all the way.  
  
Bilbo laughs and joins him after a while. He wraps his arms around Thorin’s middle and rests his chin on Thorin’s chest and gazes up at him. “Thorin Durin, giver of life,” he says with a fond smile. “To more than one person in this world.”  
  
And Thorin can do nothing but smile at that and press a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “Good,” he says quietly.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“And I love you.”  
  
Their last two days at the farm are peaceful and they watch Sunrise get her feet under herself and nurse from her content mother. Bilbo collects eggs in the morning from the chickens and Thorin leads the border collies in the fields and watches the sunrise.  
  
And it is no hard thing to make a promise to return when Bilbo asks for it.  
  
Perhaps it is not a permanent solution to what Bilbo needs but he needs it all the same and Thorin will always do whatever he can to give Bilbo what he needs.  
  
He is, after all, part of Thorin’s own personal fairy tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of Scotland and birthing a calf comes from Le Google, so please forgive any mistakes. c:


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. Bilbo, Gryffindor, doesn't play Quidditch but certainly has House pride: "Slytherin is going down at the game today! Oh no wait that one Chaser is hot-" (What a shame if the Quaffle were to hit such a handsome, regal face)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [cronusamporaofficial](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cronusamporaofficial)
> 
> I definitely -did not- follow this prompt very well (read: Bilbo does play Quidditch and Thorin is a Hufflepuff) but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, lad.”  
  
“Surely there must be something!”  
  
“Nothing at all.”  
  
“Well, why can’t I take the potion itself?”  
  
“Firstly, it doesn’t work that way, and secondly, if it did, it would be cheating to allow you to play after taking it.”  
  
Bilbo groans and looks morosely down at his knees.  
  
He’s sitting on a hospital bed in the hospital wing while Mister Oin observes him. It’s an entirely unfair reason why he is there. Potion brewing gone wrong. Bilbo is normally very good in his Potions lessons and tends to make such excellent potions that Professor Gandalf uses them as teaching examples. He has never had an accident while brewing and it is _entirely not his fault_ that this has happened to him.  
  
So perhaps he had been leaning over his cauldron for a little too long, having completely forgotten Gandalf’s dire warning to not inhale the fumes, because he had forgotten his glasses in his room upstairs and hadn’t had the time to go get them. And perhaps he had inhaled the fumes for a good ten minutes before Hamfast had noticed Bilbo tapping his foot against the ground and swinging his hips.  
  
It is definitely not his fault.  
  
Bilbo stands and throws his arms into the air and wiggles them to some unknown beat as Oin gazes on stoically.  
  
“And exactly how long will this last?” Bilbo asks petulantly.  
  
“Until it runs its course, lad. Tonight, maybe the morning. But not within the next hour,” Oin says with a glare.  
  
Bilbo sighs as he is finally able to stop dancing.  
  
The Quidditch game starts in an hour and Bilbo just so happens to be as excellent a Seeker as he is a potion brewer. They’re only on their second game of the year but it’s his last year at Hogwarts and every game counts. He feels his heart shrivel up at the thought that he is supposed to be playing Hufflepuff today and that Drogo Baggins, his cousin, will have to take his spot.  
  
To think the Draught of bloody Peace is what did this to him.  
  
Bilbo thanks Oin quietly and leaves the hospital wing to go to the Great Hall and inform his teammates of the ill news.  
  
They take it as badly as Bilbo expects them to and curse Oin and curse Bilbo and curse the heavens. Drogo attempts to look upset for Bilbo but Bilbo can tell he is really very excited to play and though he feels some jealousy, he understands the elation that comes with playing Quidditch. Drogo isn’t as good at Bilbo but he’s more than decent and Hufflepuff’s Seeker isn’t anything special.  
  
But the rest of the team is.  
  
Hufflepuff and Gryffindor have been battling it out for the last six years, ever since Bilbo was put on the team in his Second Year and his rival had been placed on Hufflepuff’s team.  
  
His rival plays Chaser and he’s exceptionally good at it. Fast, ruthless and with a truly fantastic throwing arm. He is hard to beat as he scores points like no other and Bilbo has to attempt to find the Snitch quickly before the points from catching it don’t matter anymore.  
  
And now Bilbo has to watch from the stands as Drogo attempts to do the same.  
  
He leaves the castle and walks with Drogo to the Quidditch pitch and tries to give him as much advice as he can. Drogo knows most of it and merely smiles while Bilbo rants about his rival.  
  
Bilbo stays to listen to the speech Gryffindor’s Captain, Hamfast Gamgee, gives. Hamfast is a Beater and a frighteningly good one at that. Bilbo requests that he pay special attention to his rival throughout the game and Hamfast grins wickedly in reply, ignoring Bilbo’s quick jig.  
  
He leaves the team with a heavy heart and goes to join his House in the stands. He finds his place next to Primula Brandybuck, Drogo’s sweetheart and watches as the teams gather on the field below for the Captains to shake hands. Bofur blows the whistle and they are off and Bilbo begins to feel his blood boil when he sees his rival.  
  
Thorin bloody Durin.  
  
Gloriously tall, gloriously handsome, gloriously pig-headed.  
  
Thorin has luxuriously long black hair that is tied into a ponytail for games but that he lets loose most of the time otherwise. Bilbo and he have gotten into enough arguments that he is very familiar with the fire behind his blue eyes. He’s even starting to grow a beard which is unfair considering they are only seventeen.  
  
Yes, Thorin seems to be perfect in nearly every way. Intelligent and exceeding in his classes, popular throughout the school… with ladies and gentlemen alike.  
  
He’s just so bloody _arrogant._  
  
“Down with Hufflepuff!” Bilbo screams as he Irish dances in the stands. “Destroy them!”  
  
His House roars with him and Primula at his side laughs heartily.  
  
“What on earth are you doing, Bilbo?”  
  
“Did Drogo not tell you?” Bilbo asks as he pants and his legs finally stop moving. “Inhaled Draught of Peace.”  
  
Primula gasps and covers her mouth. “You didn’t!” she says but she looks amused. “That’s unlike you.”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” Bilbo grumbles as he watches Thorin soar through the pitch and score another goal. “Take him down, Ham!” he hollers.  
  
Hamfast is already on it and aims Bludgers in Thorin’s direction whenever he can. Thorin dodges most of them and the Gryffindor House groans each time he does. None of them would particularly mind if Thorin was taken down a notch or two. Maybe then he wouldn’t keep glaring at Bilbo every time he happened to notice him. Bilbo might have glared back but that was simply on principle.  
  
Most of his House ignores him as he line dances down his row but he does hear the occasional chuckle and merely waves them off. Primula attempts to keep a straight face when he joins her but Bilbo gives her permission to laugh as much as she wants - she is only in her Fifth year and is bound to do something foolish before she leaves Hogwarts as well.  
  
Bilbo yells and jeers at the Hufflepuff team as they begin to pull ahead of Gryffindor. Dwalin aims a Bludger enough at Drogo whenever he spots the Snitch that he can never quite catch it and if Bilbo brandishes his wand, well, Primula is there to hiss at him to put it away.  
  
“Get him, Ham!” Bilbo screeches as Thorin races to the goals with the Quaffle firmly tucked under his arm.  
  
And Ham, bless his heart, aims true.  
  
The Bludger goes wide as it spins but swings back toward Thorin, who does not see it in time to dodge it. He gets the full brunt of it to his face.  
  
The entire pitch groans in agony as the spurt of blood from Thorin’s nose is entirely visible even though he is high in the air. He drops the Quaffle and Gryffindor retrieves it and scores easily.  
  
Hufflepuff boos and Bilbo can tell that Dwalin and Gloin will be taking out their frustrations on Gryffindor gladly. But then Drogo dives and there is a collective gasp throughout the stands. Bilbo can see a glint of gold and Hufflepuff’s Seeker is hot on Drogo’s heels. He holds his breath as he watches while Primula at his side cheers Drogo on.  
  
Drogo swoops forward…  
  
and catches the Snitch.  
  
Gryffindor House roars and stamps their feet and Bilbo tap-dances along with them.  
  
And if he feels a twinge in his heart at the sight of Thorin flying down to the ground with his yellow uniform splattered in blood and a clear hunch to his shoulders, well, no one has to know.  
  
The four respective Houses join the field to congratulate and console whoever they were rooting for and Bilbo gives Drogo a hearty hug. He isn’t quite as upset about missing the game now that they have won and the team plans to celebrate with the butter beers they have stashed away in their dorms, bought from Nori of Slytherin a week ago.  
  
“Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo feels a bit of a shiver go up his spine at the familiar deep voice. He turns around and looks at Thorin, who is a very sorry sight. The blood has dried now but it soaks his nose and chin and a good bit of his shirt. His nose is also clearly broken.  
  
“Looks better that way, Durin,” Bilbo says with a grin.  
  
Thorin rolls his eyes. “Congratulations,” he says gruffly. “Why didn’t you play today?”  
  
“Ah, no reason,” Bilbo quickly says. “Stand still.”  
  
Thorin raises an eyebrow but before he can protest Bilbo has pulled out his wand, swished it and cried, “Episkey!”  
  
Thorin yelps as his nose snaps back into place and quickly reaches up to touch it. Likely to see if Bilbo has made it worse or not. But his shoulders relax and he sighs as he look at Bilbo with watery eyes.  
  
“Thank you,” he says through gritted teeth. “But I thought it looked better that way?”  
  
“Well,” Bilbo says as he shrugs. “Wouldn’t want to lose your faithful fans.” He eyes the group of girls who are hovering nearby and gazing at Thorin longingly.  
  
Thorin look mildly uncomfortable and studiously avoids their gazes. “Wouldn’t mind it honestly,” he says. “Why didn’t you play?” he demands suddenly again and with a fierce frown.  
  
“I would have beaten you just the same as Drogo, you know.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant— what are you doing?”  
  
Bilbo feels his nose heat up as he begins to ballet dance, twirling in place with his hands above his head. “Ignore this,” he says as many more people than before laugh around him. “It’s entirely not my fault.”  
  
Thorin gapes at him for a while. “Did you inhale the Draught of Peace?”  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo snaps as he leaps a few feet away and back. “Care to join me?”  
  
Thorin snaps his mouth shut but he is beginning to look as amused as Primula had. “I like watching much more,” he says with a smirk as Bilbo finally calms down. “Isn’t there an antidote for it?”  
  
“You’d think,” Bilbo huffs. “But I’m hardly that lucky.”  
  
“No, I mean… I’ve heard there is one cure for it,” Thorin says as his nose reddens. “You have to dance with someone.”  
  
It is Bilbo’s turn to gape at him in return. “And why on earth wouldn’t Oin know that?”  
  
“It might not be true,” Thorin says with a shrug. “Maybe you should find someone to try it with though. Or you’ll be stuck like that through dinner.”  
  
“I don’t even know anyone that dances,” Bilbo groans. “And who would want to make a fool out of themselves just like I have?”  
  
Thorin chuckles, a rare occurrence in their usual conversations. “I’m not bad at it. Ballroom dancing anyway.”  
  
And Bilbo can do nothing more but gape at Thorin all over again. It sounds like an offer… an offer to bloody dance with him to cure him of his unfortunate ailment. From Thorin bloody Durin. Perhaps it is simply to repay him for fixing his nose and Bilbo feels his heart calm down somewhat at the thought… even if it also twinges in disappointment.  
  
“Erm,” Bilbo says. “I… suppose there is no harm in trying.” He coughs a little. “Preferably not in front of the entire school.”  
  
Thorin grins. “No,” he agrees. “Meet me by the Astronomy Tower after dinner if it’s still happening and we’ll see if we can put a stop to it.”  
  
The Astronomy Tower is a private place but also a place that many people go to… well, get to know each other. Bilbo knows he’s blushing but he hopes the jig he’s doing and Thorin’s laughter is explanation for it. He glares and Thorin stops laughing but he’s still smiling. They nod to each other and Thorin goes to rejoin his team as Bilbo turns to rejoin his.  
  
“Do my ears deceive me or did you just make a dancing date with Thorin Durin?”  
  
Bilbo startles and looks quickly at Primula who approaches him with a grin.  
  
“Hardly a date,” he scoffs. “I fixed his nose,” he says defensively when Primula merely smirks at him. “It’s not a date!”  
  
“He is very fine, isn’t he,” Primula says as she looks after Thorin, who is walking back toward the locker room.  
  
“Don’t let Drogo hear you,” Bilbo says dryly.  
  
“He agrees with me,” Primula says with a mischievous glance in his direction. “Come on, Bilbo, let’s get back to the Great Hall. It’s nearly dinner, you know.”  
  
And Bilbo knows it very well. If he counts down the minutes on the way back to the castle and throughout dinner, Primula is the only one to know it. He may or may not glance at the Hufflepuff table and he may or may not see blue eyes peering back at him but that is neither here nor there. What if Thorin had meant it as a joke anyway? Bilbo thinks he’s arrogant but he doesn’t think he’s cruel. But he still worries that it might be a trap as he goes to the Astronomy Tower while the sun sets.  
  
But Thorin is there and he is alone and he offers a hand to Bilbo with a smile.  
  
And Bilbo smiles back and dances with Thorin and they discuss Quidditch and their classes and their friends.  
  
Bilbo doesn’t stop involuntarily dancing but he doesn’t particularly mind it. Thorin doesn’t seem to either when he asks Bilbo for one more dance.  
  
They might be rivals and the bane of each other’s Quidditch existences but that night on the tower, they become something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Bilbo's side effect was very HPesque. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7\. How dare you take me for a criminal? You've got the wrong door. Not a single burglar in this neighborhood for sure!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [mirkwood-spider-express](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mirkwood-spider-express)

It is a perfectly ordinary evening in the Shire.  
  
The sunset is beautiful, casting the kitchen in pinks and oranges and purples. The heat of the day wanes and a breeze picks up and blows through the open window. It smells of evening meals, roasts and chickens and stews and bread. Home and warmth.  
  
Bilbo finishes pan frying a chicken breast seasoned with lemon and rosemary. There is asparagus and bacon and garlic mashed potatoes to go with it and Bilbo looks over his meal in satisfaction as he takes it to the table. He had poured an ale while cooking and takes a hearty sip of it before beginning to cut into his chicken.  
  
A perfectly ordinary evening indeed.  
  
Until there are three hard knocks on his door.  
  
Bilbo pauses and glances up from his plate. He narrows his eyes. It is not perfectly ordinary for anyone to come knocking at this time of the evening, as they are eating dinner themselves and know very well that Bilbo does not wish to be disturbed once the sun sets.  
  
He decides to ignore it and stuffs a steaming bite of chicken into his mouth and chews moodily.  
  
There are another few knocks on his door, more quick and harsh this time.  
  
Bilbo scoffs and throws his fork down while yanking his napkin out of his shirt. He stands and begins to stomp down the hallway to the door, straightening his waistcoat as he goes. After taking in a deep breath, Bilbo pulls the door open and glares at his visitor.  
  
Only, it isn’t a perfectly ordinary visitor.  
  
A dwarf stares back at him.  
  
He is tall, a head taller than Bilbo himself, and is dressed regally in a furred coat with leather armor underneath. There is a sword at his hip and a pack on his back and a mighty glare on his face. Without saying a word, the dwarf tries to enter Bilbo’s home.  
  
“Excuse me!” Bilbo cries as he thrusts his hand in front of the dwarf’s chest and holds on to the doorframe. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”  
  
The dwarf looks at Bilbo, standing entirely too close, enough so for Bilbo to smell campfire smoke and leather oil.  
  
“I was told you would be expecting me.”  
  
“Expecting you?” Bilbo repeats incredulously. “Certainly not. And you are certainly not invited in! I was not expecting any visitors! None for a few days yet and not a dwarf at that. Just who are you?”  
  
The dwarf is frowning fiercely. “He did not tell you?”  
  
“He? Who he?” Bilbo demands. “If you are thinking of robbing me, good sir, I will have you—”  
  
_“Rob you?”_ the dwarf barks angrily. He looks especially peeved at the accusation. “You think I would sink so low as to come into the Shire and rob one of its inhabitants by knocking on the front door? And a burglar's door at that! You insult me, halfing. Gandalf was clearly wrong about you.”  
  
Bilbo gapes at him as he tries to process quite a few things at once. “Gandalf?” he manages faintly. _“Burglar?_ I’m hardly a burglar!” He laughs, high and false. “Yes, I do believe you have the wrong door.”  
  
“A green door at the top of the hill!” the dwarf snaps and gestures widely around. “I am at the top of the hill and you have a green door. Gandalf told me you would be expecting me and would have dinner prepared.”  
  
“Now I’m supposed to cook for you?!” Bilbo cries before pointing his finger under the dwarf’s nose. “No burglar lives here. You tell Gandalf he can shove that walking stick—”  
  
“Master Burglar,” the dwarf says loudly and puffs his chest out. “I do not believe the wizard would have me travel to the Shire in search of a burglar if one did not reside here. He spoke highly of your skills in burgling precious stones and metals and I am in need of a burglar to take back a stone that was stolen from me!”  
  
Bilbo gapes again. “W-Well,” he says breathlessly. “You will not find that burglar here. I have no skills, none whatsoever, in anything, really! Gandalf must have been playing one of his tricks on you, ha ha ha, yes, that’s it… try over the hill or across the water.” He pulls back and makes to close the door.  
  
A steel toed boot stops his progress and the dwarf shoves the door open again with his rather alarming strength. He doesn’t enter however and merely glares at Bilbo for a moment, who is very tempted to grab his own walking stick that’s hanging by the door to give this dwarf the what for.  
  
“You think very highly of yourself,” Bilbo says flatly.  
  
“I was thinking the same of you.”  
  
Bilbo huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “You have the wrong smial, Master Dwarf.”  
  
“My name is Thorin Oakenshield,” the dwarf growls. “And I have come a very long way to hire a hobbit burglar and I am _very_ hungry.”  
  
“And I should feed you?” Bilbo scoffs. “That’s presumptuous of you.”  
  
Thorin merely glowers and so that is how Bilbo finds himself seated at his table and watching Thorin Oakenshield eating his freshly made dinner and drinking his freshly poured ale. Bilbo sits with his arms crossed and taps his foot against the floor. And if he has a knife hidden in the back of his trousers, well, Thorin doesn’t have to know it. Thorin had abandoned his sword by the doorway but Bilbo suspects that’s not the only weapon he had on him.  
  
They don’t say much to each other as Thorin gobbles up Bilbo’s food and asks for seconds. Bilbo is certainly not going to cook him another plate but he does give Thorin some pie and a few scones with jam and clotted cream and watches as he devours it all.  
  
He’s good-looking, Bilbo supposes. Very regal, with his high brow and blue eyes and long black hair and thick beard. One of the most handsome dwarves Bilbo has ever seen, now that he thinks about it, but that is certainly not going to make him… reveal things.  
  
“What else did Gandalf say about me?” he asks casually after a while. “Besides my supposed prowess at jewel thieving.”  
  
Thorin leans back with a content sigh and peers at Bilbo more curiously than he had before. “He said you were in need of an adventure.”  
  
Bilbo snorts. “Did he now,” he says with a sigh of his own - far from content. “Well, I’m definitely not. I’m perfectly fine here, in my home, and I’m not a burglar anyway.”  
  
“Yet you are defensive when accused of being one…”  
  
“And exactly who wouldn’t be? Burgling isn’t honorable or… or good for anything but making money. It’s a very bad thing to be, a burglar.”  
  
Thorin raises an eyebrow. “Gandalf said hobbits are light and swift on their feet. That they can pass unseen by most should they wish. That they make the ideal burglar.”  
  
“So then you’ve certainly got the wrong home, haven’t you?” Bilbo says a bit more angrily than he intended. “I am not - nor have I ever been - a burglar! Now, Thorin Oakenshield, you have eaten my food and dragged mud all over my floors and _you_ have insulted _me._ Gandalf was wrong. I don’t know what else to tell you.”  
  
Thorin watches him in silence before he glances at the table. “Allow me to clean after myself and share a smoke with you before I make my way to the inn for the evening,” he says as he looks back at Bilbo. “Then you will not see me again.”  
  
Bilbo eyes him and thinks about that for a while. Thorin sounds genuine and much more polite than he has so far this evening. But Bilbo feels as if he is far from done with the burglar business and doesn’t know quite what to do about it. He can make denials until he is blue in the face but then… what if Gandalf comes along? He’s already outing Bilbo to absolute strangers. What more might the mad wizard do?  
  
He sighs. “Fine,” he agrees. “But take your boots off first and leave them by the door.”  
  
Thorin’s lips quirk as he inclines his head and stands from the table.  
  
Bilbo watches as Thorin leaves the room and hears him shuffling around by the door. He returns bootless and gathers the dishes and takes them to the washbasin. He begins to go to work as if it is something he does often and doesn’t offer up any complaints. And when he is finished with that, he takes up a washcloth, wets it and retraces his steps throughout the smial to clean up scuffs of mud on the floors. Bilbo follows him but not because he doesn’t trust Thorin. Merely to watch.  
  
When Thorin is done he disposes of the washcloth and pulls out a pipe from his tunic with his eyebrows raised.  
  
Bilbo nods and leads Thorin into the smoking room. He finds his own pipe on the mantle and packs it, then lights both of them. They sit in the armchairs in front of the empty hearth and Bilbo watches as Thorin inhales the smoke and breathes it out slowly.  
  
“Someone stole a stone from you?” Bilbo asks, his curiosity not as contained as he might have hoped for. “Is this some petty feud?”  
  
Thorin smiles vaguely. “I wish that it were, Master Burglar.”  
  
“Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. Not a burglar.”  
  
“Master Baggins,” Thorin corrects with a nod. “The stone that was stolen from me is called the Arkenstone. It was taken by the dragon Smaug in the east. In Erebor.”  
  
Bilbo puffs quickly on his pipe with his eyes narrowed, his heart picking up pace.  
  
A bloody dragon. A bloody dragon!  
  
How often does one get to burgle a dragon? It’s… tempting… _no,_ no it isn’t.  
  
Bilbo has lived an honest life in the Shire and he won’t see that ruined. He shakes himself of his momentary exhilaration. “Well, isn’t that something,” he says mildly. “And how exactly do you expect a burglar to get the stone back?”  
  
“As Gandalf had said… hobbits are light and swift on their feet and can pass unseen. Enough perhaps to go under the nose of a dragon and take back the Arkenstone.”  
  
“And the Arkenstone means… what, exactly?”  
  
“The Arkenstone is believed to be a divine sign that the king is meant to rule the mountain. Without the Arkenstone, many dwarves will not believe in the rightful king. The rightful king can use the stone to call upon the dwarven armies of Middle Earth to seize back the mountain and kill the dragon Smaug.”  
  
Bilbo’s heart is hammering in his chest again. It feels very light and his fingertips tingle. He puffs on his pipe again. “That’s quite the stone then,” he says. “Am I correct in assuming you are supposed to be the rightful heir to Erebor’s throne?”  
  
Thorin inclines his head. “Aye. That I am,” he says proudly and lifts his chin as he gazes at Bilbo.  
  
Of course he’s a king. A dwarven king in his smial with a magnificent offer to burgle a dragon. Possibly the most dangerous and rewarding employment Bilbo might ever be involved with.  
  
It shouldn’t make him so blasted excited.  
  
“Well, Your Majesty,” Bilbo says and gazes into the hearth. “I do hope you find your burglar.”  
  
“Hmm,” Thorin hums. “I believe that I already have.”  
  
Bilbo glances at him and raises an eyebrow. “Do you now? And what would your thoughts be if you had?”  
  
Thorin smiles faintly. “That looks can easily be deceiving and I should not be so quick to judge someone with obvious skill.”  
  
Bilbo snorts. “And how, pray tell, have you seen any of these obvious skills?”  
  
“The unassuming stone on your mantle is _Lugun’aban._ The Holy Stone in common,” Thorin says casually. “A different divine stone. Stolen from the Iron Hills some twenty years ago.” When Bilbo opens his mouth, a denial ready, Thorin smiles. “I have seen it many times in person myself, Master Baggins.”  
  
And what can Bilbo say to that? It seems like a gross oversight but he had honestly forgotten the blasted stone was even there. He looks at it and hums in consideration. He had heard tales told of the Holy Stone of the Iron Hills and it had been too tempting in his earlier days. They had spoken of its great beauty and hidden healing powers. Bilbo hadn’t cared about the latter but the former had sounded promising.  
  
And then he had found a plain, jagged piece of brown rock. He had mostly taken it out of spite.  
  
“I hope they haven’t fallen into ruin in the Iron Hills,” Bilbo says as he relaxes into his armchair. “What with its supposed healing powers.”  
  
“An old king once believed it had cured him of an incurable black lung disease,” Thorin says easily. “We believe he had taken to smoking a plant from the far east that eased his pain and prolonged his life somewhat. But the stone became legend.” He looks back at it and chuckles. “My cousin Dain would grey more than he already has to find it in a hobbit’s home in the far west of the Shire.”  
  
Bilbo cannot help but smile as Thorin doesn’t seem the least bit upset about it. “Are you going to tell on me?” he asks as he takes another puff of his pipe.  
  
Thorin looks at him then and remains silent for a moment. “Not if you can do it again.”  
  
Bilbo laughs. “I suspect this time might actually kill me. Burgling the Iron Hills seemed dangerous at the time… but this is a dragon we’re talking about.”  
  
“Aye,” Thorin says. “And yet I believe you are the only one that could do it.”  
  
“Hmm,” Bilbo hums indifferently as he puts out his pipe. He folds his hands in his lap and gazes at Thorin.  
  
Thorin gazes steadily back.  
  
“What’s in it for me, exactly? Besides not starting a war with your cousin?”  
  
“A fourteenth share of all the treasure in Erebor… of which there is much.”  
  
“That might just set me up for life, you know.”  
  
Thorin chuckles. “I have a strange feeling that you already are, Master Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo smiles. “You might be right,” he says with a shrug. “Tell me more.”  
  
And so Thorin does. He tells Bilbo of the day Smaug came and what had happened to his people after that. To his family. He tells Bilbo of Erebor and her might, of her glorious halls of green marble and her great limestone gates, guarded by granite dwarven sentinels. He tells Bilbo his story with such a fierce passion and pride, with a broken heart, and Bilbo can feel his own heart telling him what he should do about it.  
  
They share a few ales as Thorin talks and Bilbo merely searches for who Thorin is behind all of it.  
  
A good, true dwarf, he thinks. Brave and honorable and loyal to his homeland perhaps to a fault.  
  
And Bilbo thinks… that is one he could follow.  
  
When Thorin has finished speaking and is nursing an ale, looking tired but content enough, Bilbo sets his own ale aside.  
  
“Where do I sign?”  
  
Thorin quickly looks at him, his eyebrows raised. A slow smile grows on his lips and he reaches into his tunic and pulls out a contract.  
  
Bilbo gives it a read as he knows to never sign anything without reading it first and decides that it is fair enough. He signs it with a flourish in his study, Thorin by his side.  
  
“When do we leave?” Bilbo asks as he turns to Thorin.  
  
“The morning after tomorrow,” Thorin says with a slight smile. “You have one day yet, Master Baggins.”  
  
“Hmm… well, Master Oakenshield, I suppose we have time to get to know one another better then.”  
  
“Aye. I would like that,” Thorin murmurs as he gazes down at Bilbo. “Tell me of yourself, Master Baggins.”  
  
So Bilbo does.  
  
And if Thorin takes his hand at the end of the night and tells Bilbo that he’d like to continue knowing him, well, what can Bilbo do but say yes?  
  
Bilbo is in need of an adventure after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8\. Professor Durin has a (not so secret) crush on the curly haired wizard who works at Honeydukes. He goes there every chance he gets and buys candy just to have the chance to see him. Too bad Thorin actually hates candy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [angelsallfire](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire)

The shop smells of chocolate and nougat and berries as it always does when Bilbo first enters Honeydukes. He breathes in deeply and smiles as he gazes around the colorful displays, freshly stocked by the backroom employees that arrive at dawn.  
  
Candy apples shimmer in the bright light of the morning, taffy wrappers glinting and purple boxes of chocolate shine temptingly.  
  
Bilbo checks in with the staff in the back and takes a look at their stock in the basement before heading back up and taking his place behind the counter. He sheds his coat, the shop far warmer than outside. He flicks his wand at the door and the closed sign flips to open and the shop door swings open. The few people waiting outside hurry in from the cold.  
  
“Good morning!” Bilbo greets each new customer that comes in.  
  
Quite a few of them are Seventh year students from Hogwarts, the only year allowed in Hogsmeade whenever they’d like, come to stock up their sweets supplies to get them through the week. They are hard at work studying for NEWTs and for every student that brings in homework marked with an E or higher gets a free box of chocolate frogs, a long standing tradition of Bilbo’s. They also tend to buy other things anyway so it’s not really a loss for the shop.  
  
“I do hope you’re planning on paying for that,” Bilbo says dryly as he packs up a customer’s chocolates.  
  
A student pauses at the taffy bins lining the wall near the register with an unwrapped taffy hovering at his mouth. He grins sheepishly.  
  
“My one free taffy of the day,” he says slowly. Another tradition of Bilbo’s.  
  
“Actually it’s your third,” Bilbo says mildly as he smiles and says goodbye to the customer.  
  
“Sorry, Mister Baggins,” the student says as he approaches the counter sheepishly. “I was actually going to pay for them.”  
  
Bilbo chuckles. “I know you were, Rufus,” he says and takes Rufus’s three Sickles for a handful of taffy. “Now run along.”  
  
Rufus grins and takes his leave and as Bilbo watches his exit, another customer enters. A very familiar customer dusting off a bit of snow from his shoulders.  
  
Bilbo straightens out his shirt quickly and clears his throat. “Ah, Professor!” he says and waves. “Good to see you’re surviving the tests.”  
  
Professor Thorin Durin gapes at him as he usually does whenever Bilbo addresses him, who simply ignores it after the last few years of seeing it, before he comes to the counter. “Yes,” he says with a small smile. “Barely though. How are you, Mister Baggins?”  
  
“Wonderful! But do call me Bilbo,” Bilbo says cheerfully, as he always does to Professor Durin’s question. “Are you browsing today or looking for recommendations?”  
  
Thorin doesn’t answer for a moment and gazes around the shop with a slightly lost look to him… as he always does to Bilbo’s question. “…recommendations, I think.”  
  
“Anything in particular you feel like? You tried raspberry sweets when you were last in. What did you think of them?”  
  
“They were wonderful,” Thorin says quickly, a bit of a blush on his nose. “I ate all of them.”  
  
Bilbo laughs and grins. “I’m glad to hear it.”  
  
Thorin smiles in return and goes silent for a while again as he stares at Bilbo until Bilbo raises his eyebrows. “Oh… hmm…” Thorin says and gazes around the shop once more. “Er, how about…” He’s beginning to look a bit panicked and glances above Bilbo. “Honey.”  
  
Bilbo suspects Thorin noticed the sign above him, the shop’s name written with a flourish and bites his lip so he won’t smile. Whenever Thorin comes in, he seems to be overwhelmed with the selection of candies and will wander around aimlessly until Bilbo takes pity on him and chooses for him once he’s asked after some of Thorin’s favorite flavors. And sometimes he comes straight to the counter for recommendations.  
  
“Honey,” Bilbo repeats. “Well, we’ve got quite a few honey sweets. Come along with me.” He comes around the counter and hollers to the backroom, “Rosie! Come take over for a bit!”  
  
Rosie appears at the doorway, her apron covered in chocolate stains. She gets one look at Thorin and grins mischievously which brings a blush to Bilbo’s cheeks. He coughs a little and gestures for Thorin to follow him.  
  
They go to one corner of the shop that has a sign painted with a gooey, dripping honeycomb and bees buzzing steadily around it. Bilbo gestures grandly.  
  
“Honey!” he says and begins to point out ones that are not only best sellers but favorites of his own.  
  
There are the Chocolate Honey Bombs that cause a ten minute state of relaxation. The Bee’s Honeycomb which buzzes angrily as you munch on it and which makes Thorin look quite apprehensive. The large honey lollipops that spontaneously begin to ooze honey when you lick it. And the honey taffy at the front of the store which makes Thorin sigh in relief.  
  
The taffy is simply taffy after all.  
  
Thorin gathers a couple Honey Bombs and two Bee’s Honeycombs, as well as two lollipops. Bilbo has noticed that he always buys two of everything rather than one to simply try it or several in hopes that he likes them. It has made Bilbo wonder if Thorin has anyone that he might share them with and tries not to let any disappointment overcome him at that.  
  
Thorin is incredibly handsome with his flowing black hair streaked with silver and clear blue eyes. He looks stern upon first glance but Bilbo has come to find him to be endearingly awkward most of the time. He is tall, a good head taller than Bilbo, but Bilbo finds that all the more appealing. His voice is deep and sends shivers up Bilbo’s spine and he simply tries not to stare too openly at Thorin whenever he comes in. It’s normally two times a month which is not nearly enough in Bilbo’s opinion.  
  
He teaches Transfiguration at the school and Bilbo thinks it suits him. Something difficult that requires much concentration, something that his Honeydukes visits seem to be full of.  
  
Bilbo watches as Thorin grabs a good handful of honey taffy and he relieves Rosie when Thorin is finished so he can wrap up the sweets himself. “You haven’t had your free sweet yet today,” he says with a grin. He laughs when Thorin looks a bit queasy. “I suppose it is rather early for sweets. Except for them.” He nods at the students browsing the shop.  
  
Thorin smiles and looks relieved. “Definitely too early,” he says as his shoulders relax. “They may be Sevenths but they still sneak what they buy here into class.”  
  
Bilbo laughs. “I remember doing something similar,” he says. “And I’m sure you did too.”  
  
“Yes,” Thorin says quickly. “Often. I love sweets.”  
  
“You do buy them often enough,” Bilbo teases with a grin.  
  
Thorin blushes nicely and smiles. “Thank you for your help, Mister Baggins,” he says quietly. “As always.”  
  
Bilbo clears his throat. “My pleasure, as always. I do hope you enjoy your honey-themed sweets.”  
  
He says his goodbyes and longingly watches as Thorin heads out of the shop while leaning his elbow on the counter. And if he startles when a customer at the counter clears their throat loudly, well, they likely won’t know why. They won’t know why he floats through the rest of his day, either… except maybe Rosie considering how much she teases him and tells him to ask Thorin to visit The Three Broomsticks yet again.  
  
Maybe one day he will.  
  
Maybe.  
  
——  
  
The next time Thorin visits he requests orange flavored sweets and Bilbo gladly shows him around the shop while trying to build up the courage to ask him out for a drink. Thorin has certainly never asked him, so he fears that Thorin wouldn’t be open to the idea. That they merely share an employee slash customer relationship and nothing more.  
  
Even if Thorin tells him about his nephews, Fili and Kili, a Seventh year and Fourth year, respectively, that Bilbo knows. He tells Bilbo of his day often enough while they shop together that Bilbo feels part of Thorin’s life in some way. He seems to be kind, if a bit quiet, but Bilbo supposes he himself talks enough for both of them.  
  
He tries to ignore Rosie frantically gesturing at Thorin from her place at the register.  
  
“It’s good to see you again, Professor,” Bilbo says with a smile as he hands Thorin his wrapped sweets.  
  
Thorin smiles in return as his eyes crinkle at the corners and looks rather fond but Bilbo tries not to look into it too much. “You too, Mister Baggins. I’ll come in soon during the holiday break. My— I like what you make for Christmas.”  
   
“I’m glad,” Bilbo says warmly, his cheeks hot. “I look forward to it. Please do call me Bilbo.”  
  
Thorin hesitates as he peers at Bilbo before he nods. “Bilbo,” he says for the first time in quite a few years.  
  
Bilbo gapes at him and coughs a little. His name sounds particularly nice coming from Thorin’s mouth. “Until next time, Thorin,” he says softly.  
  
He watches as Thorin leaves the shop and feels something sink in his stomach. Perhaps his foolish, cowardly heart.  
  
“Bilbo,” Rosie’s voice groans in exasperation as she comes up to him. “Go after him!”  
  
And Bilbo feels something growing in his heart now - something that feels a bit like courage. He nods and is out of the door as fast as he can go, looking up and down the street for Thorin.  
  
He sees him and begins to run after him, his stomach coiling nervously.  
  
But he abruptly stops when he sees two figures approach Thorin. It takes him a moment to recognize Fili and Kili as bundled up as they are. He wonders if he should approach Thorin while he’s with family and dawdles.  
  
And when Thorin hands his nephews his sweets with a shake of his head and dismissive wave of his hand, Bilbo feels something far different.  
  
Confusion.  
  
Thorin seems to be glad to be rid of the sweets and Bilbo frowns as he wonders why that might be. Thorin loves sweets, doesn’t he? Perhaps he only gave his nephews a few pieces to share with them. His momentary state of confusion keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground, even as Thorin walks away again and his nephews come bounding in Bilbo’s direction.  
  
They spot him and grin widely as they hurry to him.  
  
“Mister Boggins!” Kili cheerfully says as he holds up his bag. “Uncle got us orange flavored sweets this time. The honey ones were great.”  
  
“Can’t wait to try them,” Fili say with a grin.  
  
And Bilbo can only gape at them.  
  
They begin to look a little concerned and Fili frowns. “Are you alright? You shouldn’t be out here without a coat, you know.”  
  
“It’s snowing,” Kili observes as he brushes a flake off his cheek.  
  
“Your… your uncle buys you sweets?”  
  
“Yeah, he surprises us with them a couple times a month if we’re too busy to get down here. We forgot to tell him we were coming today so I suppose we’ll just have to buy more,” Fili says with a smirk and nudge to his brother’s arm.  
  
“The sweets are for you two,” Bilbo says faintly. “Not him.”  
  
Kili laughs loudly. “Uncle? He hates candy,” he says with a grin. “Says they give him a stomach ache. We can only get him to eat a slice of pie now and then.”  
  
“Did he say the candy was for him?” Fili asks slowly as he raises his eyebrows.  
  
Bilbo nods weakly. “Erm, yes. He said he… loves sweets.”  
  
Fili and Kili gape at him. “Why would he say that?” Kili asks as he looks at his brother. “Does he just like seeing the shop, you think?”  
  
“Or someone in it,” Fili says with a brief smile, his eyes twinkling as he gazes at Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo blushes hotly as a dawning realization comes to him.  
  
The way Thorin always looked so lost in the shop but happy to see him, the way he always buys two of each candy, the way he asks Bilbo questions about his life and tells Bilbo about himself.  
  
“You mean Uncle fancies Bilbo?” Kili blurts and begins to look delighted. “Mum thought he fancied someone but we couldn’t figure out who!”  
  
“Oh dear,” Bilbo whispers. “I… that certainly can’t be… but…! Me?”  
  
Fili grins. “Why not you?”  
  
Bilbo really has no answer for that and merely gapes at the boys until they begin to laugh.  
  
“He always stops in The Three Broomsticks before going back to the castle,” Fili says. “That’s where he’s going right now.”  
  
“Mmm, yeah. He’s a big fan of Simison Steaming Stouts,” Kili says slyly.  
  
“Oh dear,” Bilbo says again as his heart once again begins to pound. His fingertips tingle and he feels some courage lighting a fire under his feet again. “I’ll be back in the shop in a little while!”  
  
And he is off, running through the snow without a coat and shivering while he does so. Fili and Kili shout after him to take his time but he hardly hears them as he runs through Hogsmeade to The Three Broomsticks. He only pauses in front of the door and pants, trying to gather himself before he enters.  
  
It smells of ale and mead and sweet tobacco and Bilbo gazes around until he spies a familiar figure sitting at a table by himself with a steaming mug in front of him. Bilbo swallows dryly and goes to the counter to get himself a butterbeer. Once Hamfast has given it to him and attempted to ask a few nosy questions, Bilbo slowly approaches Thorin.  
  
He slides into the seat across from Thorin with warmth in his cheeks and his heart in his throat.  
  
Thorin glances quickly up from his mug and looks at Bilbo with his mouth hanging open.  
  
“You don’t like sweets,” Bilbo says as casually as he can.  
  
Thorin looks startled and then a bit fearful. He doesn’t answer for a while but finally looks down at his mug shamefully. “No, I don’t.”  
  
Bilbo bites his lip as he begins to smile. “You give them to your nephews.”  
  
Thorin looks at him again and nods, looking a bit ill. “I do. They love your sweets.”  
  
“Why didn’t you say so when you first came in?”  
  
A lovely blush gathers over Thorin’s cheeks. “You offered me some free taffy and I couldn’t figure out how to tell you I would only be giving it to my nephews.”  
  
“Hmm,” Bilbo hums and grins. “Have you ever _tried_ anything?”  
  
“I did try the taffy,” Thorin says and sighs shakily. “It was awful.”  
  
Bilbo tosses his head back as he begins to laugh and covers his mouth to keep his giggling quiet. He looks at Thorin with watery eyes and Thorin looks stunned before he too begins to laugh with a handsome grin.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he says when Bilbo finally calms down.  
  
“It’s alright,” Bilbo says as he wipes tears him his eyes. “It’s rather cute honestly.”  
  
Thorin ducks his head though he is still smiling widely. “You’re rather cute,” he says and glances at Bilbo again.  
  
He coughs and straightens out his shirt. “Thank you,” he says. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”  
  
Thorin begins to grins, his eyes brightening. “I’d love that.”  
  
“How about my place tomorrow night?” Bilbo asks, only a bit nervously. “I’m a fine cook.”  
  
“Yes,” Thorin says quickly but much more genuinely than in the shop now that Bilbo thinks about it. “I would love that too.”  
  
Bilbo beams. “Good,” he says and lifts his mug toward Thorin.  
  
Thorin clinks his against it and looks very happy indeed.  
  
And the next night, Thorin knocks on his door with a bouquet of blooming purple roses and a lovely grin. And when he is leaving many hours later, he kisses Bilbo and Bilbo kisses him back and thinks that this may just be the start of something truly magical.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. Durmstrang is visiting Hogwarts in time for the Yule Ball and bookworm Bilbo might just have an admirer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [vestadragon](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vestadragon)
> 
> Completely and utterly inspired by Viktor and Hermione.

Bilbo is fairly certain he is being followed.  
  
It wouldn’t really be the first time either but considering he hasn’t actually spotted who is doing the following this time is different. He swears he’s seen someone in red and black whip around the corner when he had looked behind himself but he can’t be certain. It could have simply been a coincidence.  
  
Either way, it’s very annoying. He often keeps his wand at the ready when wandering the halls of Hogwarts just in case he needs to jinx someone.  
  
He thinks it’s because he’s bookish and spends quite a lot of time in the library. By all rights he should be in Ravenclaw what with the way he enjoys puzzles and riddles and studying. But the Sorting Hat had sent him to Slytherin and though its reputation had dramatically improved over the years there were still some biases against the House. Bilbo enjoys his time in the Slytherin Common Room especially with its location under the lake where they can occasionally hear the Giant Squid chirping. Its stone floors and walls and numerous hearths as well as the green throw rugs and silver sofas and black poufs are beautiful.  
  
It is comfortable and certainly better than living in a tower.  
  
And Headmaster Gandalf had been a Slytherin and Bilbo had always admired him.  
  
Bilbo was doing well in all of his classes and had been hard at work studying for his NEWTs. It was often a year that Seventh Years were seen pulling out their hair and though Bilbo had joined them a few times he rather enjoyed the challenges as well.  
  
But that doesn’t mean someone following him into the library and slinking around behind bookshelves is alright.  
  
Bilbo slams a large textbook down on the table particularly hard and ignores Dori’s squawking from the corner as he tries to listen for anyone else. But there are no footsteps and no one appears near him. He sniffs and sits down to open the book and begin to read through it.  
  
Quite a few students take books out of the library and go into the Great Hall to study these days. If they can even call it studying.  
  
Bilbo thinks it’s mostly to ogle the Durmstrang students that are visiting for the upcoming Yule Ball. They had been invited by Gandalf and their own Headmaster, Beorn, had agreed to come. Bilbo thinks it’s because Gandalf wants a chance to show off his whiz-poppers. And if he ignores the Durmstrang students as much as possible, well, it’s because they’re snotty and important and he doesn’t like that.  
  
It’s certainly not because the most popular Durmstrang student in the castle is extremely handsome and tends to glare at Bilbo whenever he sees him.  
  
Thorin Durin, that’s his name. Bilbo has heard it whispered throughout the castle often enough. The girls want to be invited to the Yule Ball by him and the boys want to be his best friend. Even Hamfast and Drogo have taken to talking about his supposed prowess on a broomstick whenever the Durmstrang students visit the pitch for a spot of fun.  
  
Bilbo thinks they’re simply showing off too.  
  
He’d much rather be asked to the Yule Ball by someone from Hogwarts. Not that that will happen though he does have some very nice dress robes. Just in case.  
  
There is a bit of shuffling nearby and Bilbo ignores it as he scours the book as he knows it is likely another student looking through the bookshelves.  
  
Or perhaps not, as someone suddenly bursts around the corner and Bilbo startles, quickly looking up at him. It seems almost as if he was shoved but Bilbo doesn’t see anyone else.  
  
And, Bilbo thinks sourly, it’s _him._  
  
Thorin Durin himself and he is glaring in the direction he had stumbled from as he straightens out his uniform.  
  
And a nice uniform it is, a formal crimson shirt with a high belt around the midsection and black pants. Black boots too lined with dark fur. Very important indeed. Bilbo likes his own black robes quite a lot but he can see the appeal in the Durmstrang uniform.  
  
Thorin Durin turns to face Bilbo and continues glaring.  
  
Bilbo frowns in return and is just about to ask what on earth he wants before Thorin approaches his table. He stands with his back rigid and his hands clasped behind it as he gazes down at Bilbo.  
  
“Excuse me,” he says in a thick northern accent, rather unnecessarily considering he already has Bilbo’s attention. “You are Beelbo Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo gapes at him. He never would have thought Thorin would know his name. “Erm… yes,” he says. “Can I help you?”  
  
“I ‘ave a question,” Thorin says and holds his chin up higher.  
  
“Well,” Bilbo says haltingly, “I suppose you best ask it then.”  
  
Oddly enough there is some hesitation in Thorin’s pretty blue eyes now and he opens his mouth before closing it again. There’s a bit of shuffling behind the bookshelf again and Thorin clears his throat and begins to look determined once more.  
  
Bilbo is beginning to suspect that Thorin is about to ask him for help studying and feels his hackles rise at the idea.  
  
“Vould you like to go to the Yule Ball vith me?” Thorin asks formally.  
  
Bilbo’s anger is dashed away in an instant. He gapes at Thorin for a while, not particularly able to process that request. Thorin wishes to go to the ball with him? It seems completely impossible… and perhaps that is just what it is. His anger floods back and he stands from the table and slams his book shut.  
  
“It isn’t nice to make fun of someone,” he says sternly and turns on his heels to march away.  
  
“Vait!” Thorin says loudly and ignores Dori’s shushing as he gently grabs Bilbo’s shoulder. “I am not making fun. I am asking seriously. To go to the ball vith me as my date for the evening.”  
  
Bilbo looks back up at Thorin, who is much taller than him and eyes him carefully. Thorin does look serious and a bit hopeful, if Bilbo isn’t mistaken. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart pick up pace. Could Thorin truly mean it?  
  
“You don’t even know me. We’ve never spoken before,” Bilbo says and raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Why are you asking me of all people?”  
  
Thorin frowns fiercely and Bilbo suspects that is simply how he looks most of the time. “I 'ave… admired you from afar,” he says slowly. “But you are always in the library and I did not vish to disturb you.”  
  
Bilbo gasps. “It’s been you!” he says and points an accusing finger at Thorin’s nose. “You’ve been following me!”  
  
A red tinge comes over Thorin’s nose. “Not following,” he says and winces. “Admiring.”  
  
“Following,” Bilbo says dryly but he is mildly amused. “Why do you keep hiding from me?”  
  
Thorin looks even more embarrassed. “I vanted to see you… in your…” he trails off and gestures around the library.  
  
“…my natural habitat?” Bilbo asks with a laugh. Thorin nods eagerly and Bilbo supposes it’s actually quite charming. “Hmm. And you like what you see, do you?”  
  
Thorin lets out a great sigh at Bilbo’s teasing tone and finally smiles. “Aye,” he says. “Very much so. You are… 'andsome. And intelligent. And you do not follow _me_ unlike others 'ere.”  
  
Bilbo chuckles and scratches his neck as he thinks of Lobelia. She, along with a gaggle of girls from every House, have indeed been following Thorin around. And he has always looked stoic about it but Bilbo had supposed he was trying to be regal in front of them. Perhaps he was just uncomfortable.  
  
“Erm,” he says and coughs a little. “Thank you.”  
  
He’s been called cute before, certainly, but the last time someone had called him handsome had been his mother.  
  
Thorin grins. “You are velcome,” he says and looks proud of himself.  
  
Bilbo bites his tongue so he won’t laugh and is starting to think that Thorin is not at all what he had expected. “You really want to take me, do you?”  
  
“Aye,” Thorin says. He frowns. “You ‘ave not been asked by another, ‘ave you?”  
  
“No,” Bilbo says as he laughs this time. “I didn’t expect anyone to ask me honestly. A ball isn’t typically what I’m interested in and I think most people know that by now.”  
  
“But you vould like to go vith me?” Thorin asks quickly and looks worried suddenly.  
  
“I suppose I would,” Bilbo says with a smile. “Though I haven’t danced since the classes my mother insisted on when I was nine.”  
  
“I can teach you,” Thorin says. He smirks. “I am good at it.”  
  
Bilbo snorts. “I’m sure you are,” he says dryly even as his heart attempts to burst from his chest. “I think I’ll need a few lessons.”  
  
He suspects Thorin will look particularly handsome in a dress uniform and he is eager to see him in it.  
  
“Starting tonight?” Thorin asks.  
  
“Oh goodness,” Bilbo says breathlessly. “Erm… yes! I suppose so, yes. Better to get enough practice in.” The ball isn’t for another two weeks but… that just means he gets to spend even more time with Thorin and that sounds like a wonderful thing now that Thorin isn’t glaring at him anymore.  
  
“Vhere should I meet you?”  
  
“Hmm… at the Great Hall, I think. We can find an empty classroom after that.”  
  
Thorin inclines his head and his eyes are soft as he smiles. “It vill be a good time,” he says and holds his hand out.  
  
Bilbo is expecting a hearty shake when he takes Thorin’s hand but Thorin bows and places a chaste kiss to the back of it.  
  
“Until tonight,” Thorin says in his perfectly deep voice, with his perfectly seductive accent.  
  
“Until tonight,” Bilbo agrees and is embarrassed that he is somewhat out of breath. He watches as Thorin leaves the library, another Durmstrang student as tall as him with a bald head materializing at his side. Bilbo suspects he now knows who is responsible for the shove and is a bit mortified that perhaps one of Thorin’s friends had heard their conversation.  
  
And yet he is exhilarated enough that he doesn’t really care who knows he’s going with Thorin.  
  
He checks the book out of the library and ignores the way Dori is huffing and puffing at him for daring to have a conversation not done in wild gestures.  
  
Bilbo hurries to his dormitory to see if he can find Primula and Drogo. He does have some exciting news to share after all.  
  
——  
  
The next two weeks go by agonizingly slow. Each day that he is supposed to meet Thorin drags on and Bilbo regrets telling Prim and Drogo about Thorin as they tease him endlessly about it. He is beginning to grow nervous as well as the ball approaches and tries on his dress robes numerous times to check the fit in the mirror.  
  
He thinks he looks alright in them but he’ll probably be nothing compared to Thorin.  
  
Thorin is charming and kind and funny and excellent company. He is patient with Bilbo as he teaches him a few different dances traditionally held at balls as well as a few traditional ones from what Bilbo is beginning to suspect might be Norway or Sweden. By the night before the ball Bilbo thinks he has them down well but is still nervous about mucking them up in front of half the school.  
  
Including Lobelia Bracegirdle, who has been glaring suspiciously at him for days now and Bilbo suspects it might be because he can’t stop smiling.  
  
Lobelia prefers for him to be miserable at all times.  
  
And then it is the day of the ball and Bilbo buzzes in excitement along with all Fourth Years and up. The rest of the school can’t go and Bilbo smiles in sympathy at their hunched shoulders and moody glares. He had been one of them only a few years ago.  
  
Bilbo and Hamfast get ready together, both nervous about their dates. Hamfast had worked up the courage to ask Bell and had been surprised when she had eagerly said yes. He’d been walking around with a bit of a strut and Bilbo dearly hoped he hadn’t been as well.  
  
And if he heard whispers that Thorin had asked a pretty Ravenclaw girl to the ball, well, he tries not to pay attention to them. He does somewhat fear for how students will treat him after the ball but he supposes he’ll deal with that when the time comes.  
  
Bilbo convinces Ham not to douse himself in cologne and finally they are off to the Great Hall. When they arrive, many dozens of students are waiting outside of it, the younger ones looking awkward as they stand near their dates and avoid each other’s eyes. Most Seventh Years look proud and hold the hands of their dates as they await entrance into the Great Hall.  
  
Bilbo walks down the staircase and tries not to feel ill. He’s incredibly nervous and feels some sweat gathering on his brow. Hamfast hardly even says a goodbye as he spots Bell and goes to join her and gives her a mighty handshake rather than a hug or kiss to the hand. Bilbo relaxes somewhat at the exchange and smiles to himself as he gazes around for familiar faces.  
  
Prim and Drogo are standing against the wall and Bilbo goes to stand by their side. “You look beautiful, Prim,” he says with a grin.  
  
“Thank you!” Prim beams and swishes her red dress with white lace sewed onto it. “And don’t you look handsome! Doesn’t he, Drogo?”  
  
Drogo is staring a bit dumbly at Prim but he startles and glances at Bilbo. “Oh! Yes. Very handsome, Bilbo. Lovely. Perfect,” he says as he looks back at Prim.  
  
She rolls her eyes and smirks at Bilbo. “Someone else is looking handsome as well,” she says quietly and looks over his shoulder.  
  
Bilbo heart jumps into his throat and he slowly turns around and thinks that that might be the most difficult thing he has had to do yet.  
  
And there he is. Thorin is approaching him with his head held high, one arm held over his midsection and the other clasped behind his back.  
  
He looks glorious and Bilbo is vaguely aware of most of the students in the Great Hall craning their necks to get a look at him.  
  
Thorin is wearing a royal blue uniform with another high-waisted black belt with a pearly metal buckle. There are a few pins on his breast, perhaps awards from school and they certainly make him look regal. He is wearing another pair of black boots with silver fur, polished to a sheen. His long hair is tied back in a ponytail and his eyes are very, very blue.  
  
Thorin stops in front of Bilbo and stamps his right foot before bowing and taking Bilbo’s hand to place a kiss on it, as he has done every night that Bilbo has seen him.  
  
Bilbo is well aware of the gasps and whispers around him and blushes hotly. “Goodness,” he mumbles and jumps a bit when Primula pinches his elbow. “H… Hello, Thorin. You look… you are… well.” He straightens his bow tie. “Very handsome.”  
  
“And you look vonderful,” Thorin murmurs and looks very fond. “I enjoy your shoes.”  
  
Bilbo blinks a few times before he begins to laugh and steadily relaxes. He’s wearing his favorite brown dress loafers which he knows stand out compared to everyone else’s fine black ones. “Thank you,” he say with a grin. “Are you ready to watch me embarrass myself?”  
  
Thorin chuckles. “You vill do fine,” he says and offers his arm as Headmaster Gandalf opens the doors to the Great Hall with a flourish.  
  
“Let’s hope so,” Bilbo says as he takes Thorin’s offered arm. He smiles at Prim and Drogo, who are beaming back at him, and walks with Thorin into the hall.  
  
It is breathtakingly beautiful decorated in blues and silvers. Snowflakes fall from the ceiling and streamers float through the air with each House’s crest on them, as well as Durmstrang Institute’s. Tables line the first half of the Great Hall, decorated with black tablecloths and floating candles of blue and white. The floor is cleared at the back of the hall for dancing and lanterns bob through the air above it, painting the floor with an enchanting white light.  
  
“Our hall is beautiful,” Thorin announces and when Bilbo raises an eyebrow at him, he smiles. “But not as beautiful as this.”  
  
Bilbo smiles warmly in return and they walk down the aisle between the tables to the dance floor for the traditional first dance of the ball.  
  
“I believe our Durmstrang students will lead us tonight,” Gandalf booms with his voice magnified. “To a bit of a waltz, I think!”  
  
Bilbo begins to feel nervous again as Thorin takes him out onto the floor and studiously avoids looking at anyone else, focusing on Thorin’s collar. Thorin’s arm circles his waist and his other hand takes up Bilbo’s. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“Ve are alone in a classroom,” he murmurs quietly as Gandalf flicks his wand and music from a large gramophone begins to play. “Look into my eyes.”  
  
Bilbo cannot help but laugh at the way Thorin says it and he looks up at him as they begin to dance. His feet seem to remember the steps as he imagines that they are indeed alone. “They’re very nice eyes, you know.”  
  
Thorin’s ears glow red but he is smiling widely. “Thank you,” he says. “…perhaps not as… nice as yours.”  
  
“You’re very kind,” Bilbo says as he laughs again and feels his heart warm when Thorin grins back at him.  
  
They dance as one song turns into the next and all students who wish to dance join the floor. Even some Professors join, Dori and Balin together and Gloin and Merida, who both have fiery red hair and are wearing red dress robes. It might normally clash awfully but Bilbo thinks they make for a lovely couple.  
  
Thorin and Bilbo dance to two more songs before they go to find their reserved table. They are soon joined by Dwalin, Thorin’s best friend and who Bilbo has met once, and Nori, a Hogwarts student. Nori is a fellow Slytherin and Seventh Year and Bilbo had been entirely surprised that Dwalin had asked him to the ball. Nori was often critical of such events but he seemed to become more fond of them over the last two weeks.  
  
Dwalin speaks less English than Thorin does and mostly responds to Nori’s commentary with one word answers but he looks so smitten that Bilbo and Thorin exchange amused glances.  
  
Their golden plates fill with cuts of Christmas ham and garlic potatoes and roasted vegetables. There are baskets of bread and jars of butter and honey. Bottles of butterbeer and glasses of pumpkin juice are served and Bilbo watches fondly as Thorin guzzles the pumpkin juice. He had mentioned that it was not a popular drink in his country but that he had very much enjoyed it while at Hogwarts.  
  
And if Bilbo is falling, well, perhaps Thorin will be there to catch him.  
  
Treacle tart, sticky toffee pudding and pumpkin tarts are served as desserts. Bilbo is not entirely surprised that Thorin puts five pumpkin tarts on his plate.  
  
Dwalin is eating the treacle tart with a few inappropriate noises to go along with it and Nori is watching him with a wicked grin as he does.  
  
Bilbo complains of the NEWT exams that are to come at the end of the school year and Thorin listens as attentively as he always does, even though Bilbo complains often enough about the same thing. Thorin gives a few pointers about defensive spells, a weakness of Bilbo’s, and Bilbo soaks in both the words and Thorin’s voice.  
  
They go back to the dance floor after a while and Thorin leads Bilbo through the traditional dance of his country which seems to inspire more Durmstrang students to join them and follow. Thorin murmurs in Bilbo’s ear and Bilbo laughs and feels his heart soar.  
  
When they are finished, Bilbo goes back to the table and Thorin excuses himself to find a bathroom, no doubt from all that pumpkin juice.  
  
“Butterbeer please,” Bilbo says to his glass, which refills itself.  
  
“How on earth did you manage it, Bilbo?” a familiar, high-pitched voice asks.  
  
Bilbo looks up at Lobelia as she slides into Thorin’s seat, wearing her familiar sneer.  
  
“Manage what?” Bilbo asks warily though he suspects he knows.  
  
“How on earth did you manage to get Thorin Durin to take you to the ball?” she demands. “What did he want in return?”  
  
Bilbo gapes at her in stunned silence until he gets his bearings. “Absolutely nothing,” he says flatly. “Scare Otho off already?”  
  
Lobelia smirks nastily. “He’s finding an empty garden space outside,” she says airily. “I expect he wants a kiss. I imagine Durin doesn’t.”  
  
“Hmm,” Bilbo hums. “Is that the impression you’ve gotten as you watched us all evening long?” He hasn’t noticed her but of this he has no doubt.  
  
She glares at him. “What could he possibly see in a sniveling little brat like you?”  
  
“What could you possibly see beyond the toxic air surrounding you?”  
  
“You’re as arrogant as you’ve always been. Thorin will be gone soon and he will never, ever—”  
  
“Enjoy the company of one like you,” a deep voice says coldly.  
  
Bilbo and Lobelia startle and look up at Thorin, who is towering over Lobelia with a fierce glare. “'Ow dare you speak to Beelbo that way? You ‘ave an attitude as dark as your dress.”  
  
Lobelia gapes at Thorin for a moment before she swiftly stands and brushes her ruffled black dress that has truly awful little silver bells adorning it. It’s a wonder Bilbo hadn’t heard her tinkling over to him.  
  
“Well,” she says as she turns her nose up. “It’s only because you don’t know him, Thorin.” She says his name sweetly, as if she has been the one getting to know him. “Too much more time with him and you’ll see what I mean.”  
  
Bilbo feels a flare of anger but it is no match to the scowl on Thorin’s face.  
  
“Beelbo is more wonderful every day. There is no one I want to spend my time with like 'im. Not you. Never you.”  
  
Lobelia’s mien twists in anger. “You’ll regret it,” she snaps and shoots a glare at Bilbo.  
  
“Careful, Lobelia,” he says mildly. “Wouldn’t want Otho to hear you, now would you?”  
  
She sniffs and turns on her heels, chiming obnoxiously as she stomps away.  
  
Thorin sits heavily down in the chair on Bilbo’s other side rather than the one Lobelia occupied. He glares fiercely after her before turning to Bilbo, his eyes softening. “Are you vell?”  
  
Bilbo smiles faintly. “I am. I’m used to it,” he says and chuckles as Thorin frowns. “Truly, I am. It was rather nice to not be the one to tell her off though. Brilliant job, really.”  
  
Some of Thorin’s tension eases away and he smiles as he takes up Bilbo’s hand. “You do not deserve such… foulness,” he says. “She should not be saying those things.”  
  
“Well,” Bilbo says as he shrugs. “Maybe you can tell me what I deserve instead?”  
  
Thorin grins. “You deserve only the best,” he says and kisses Bilbo’s hand. “Kind words and politeness. You deserve to be told you are… perfect.”  
  
Bilbo blushes and clears his throat. “Perfect is a very strong word, you know.”  
  
“But a good one,” Thorin says. “I vould like to take you to the gardens now.”  
  
“That’s where Lobelia just went, I’m afraid,” he says and chuckles when Thorin scowls. “And it’s very cold outside!”  
  
“Vhere can I take you then?”  
  
“Hmm… I do believe I know a place.”  
  
Thorin takes one last pumpkin tart to eat on the way and Bilbo leads him through the halls to the seventh floor. They stop in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and Thorin watches in bemusement as Bilbo paces back and forth three times. But when a door appears his mouth opens and he gazes in wonder.  
  
“Vhat is this place?”  
  
“It depends on what you want,” Bilbo says as he opens the door and gestures Thorin inside.  
  
Thorin walks in to the room and abruptly stops as he looks around in awe.  
  
It is a wonderful garden, the usual stone floors covered in grass, daisies and dandelions. Vines creep along the walls and rose bushes surround a white bench in the center of the room. Bilbo takes Thorin’s hand and leads him to it and sits down with him.  
  
Thorin holds on to Bilbo’s hand as he continues to gaze around before turning his attention to Bilbo. He smiles warmly. “‘Ogvarts is not vhat I expected.”  
  
Bilbo smiles. “Better than, I hope?”  
  
“Much,” Thorin says fondly. “It ‘as you.”  
  
And Bilbo can really do nothing more than place his hand on Thorin’s cheek and lean up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.  
  
And it seems Thorin can do nothing more than wrap his arm around Bilbo and kiss him again, sweetly but with a passion that takes Bilbo’s breath away.  
  
Thorin leaves in a few days’ time but that doesn’t scare Bilbo. He knows that does not spell the end.  
  
It is merely the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is the longest so far, whew! Trying not to think of additional ideas for it... must! resist! temptation!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. Bilbo, I want a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [telltalelily](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/telltalelily)

The soft scratching of a quill on parchment paper, the crackling of a lit hearth and the occasional huff of frustration from the room’s single occupant are the only sounds to be heard at this hour.  
  
It is late in the east, perhaps one in the morning, and Bilbo Baggins sits at his magnificently carved oaken desk. He has been gifted with a burst of inspiration and no matter the time of day, Bilbo is always sure to take advantage of it. His book is coming along well enough and he thinks that the dwarves in the mountain will enjoy reading the tale of Thorin Oakenshield and his company. There isn’t even a need to embellish much, as everything that had happened on the quest was unbelievable enough.  
  
He isn’t decided on how he will tell the end of the tale yet, however, as there were many hurts to be had there. Pain that he was intimately familiar with and is apprehensive how the dwarves might view him and Thorin if he were to write it as it happened. They might have forgiven the Arkenstone business and accepted that Thorin fell and lifted himself up but that didn’t mean the reminder might be welcome.  
  
Bilbo huffs again as he scribbles on his second piece of parchment the way he might word his next sentence and goes through a few variations.  
  
He’s vaguely aware of the door to his private study, which shares a wall with Thorin’s in their rooms, opening, but he is too absorbed to think much on it.  
  
“Bilbo.”  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
“I would like to have a baby with you.”  
  
“Of course, dear,” Bilbo mumbles as he scratches out a word. “Whatever you’d like.”  
  
He jerks his head up as he processes the words that have left Thorin’s mouth and looks at his husband standing by the door. Thorin looks terribly nervous and is eyeing Bilbo with concern. Bilbo gapes at him with his mouth hanging wide open and slowly sets his quill down, whatever he had been about to write next dashed from his mind.  
  
“A… a baby,” Bilbo says faintly and swallows. “Thorin… I think that _might_ just be impossible for the two of us.”  
  
Thorin approaches the desk as if approaching a wild wolf. He clears his throat and nods. “In the traditional sense, aye,” he murmurs and looks down at his slippers. “But there are other options.”  
  
Bilbo continues to stare at Thorin in shock. Thorin is wearing his pajamas with his patchwork robe over them and his hair is tied in the loose braid he tends to wear to bed. It’s normally a charming sight but Bilbo thinks Thorin looks especially vulnerable in this moment.  
  
“Erm,” Bilbo says and leans back in his chair. “…I suppose there are. Are you… are you thinking of the foster children?”  
  
Thorin nods. “Aye,” he says. “Most have been adopted but there are still dwarflings without families.”  
  
After the battle, the Iron Hills had experienced two dozen or so newly orphaned children. Thorin had offered to take some of them into Erebor to offer childless families from Ered Luin, who might have lost their children to poor health or to the dragon when he had first come and were still young enough to provide a loving home, an opportunity to adopt.  
  
Dain and his council had approved with the condition that if some of the children were not adopted by their thirtieth birthday they would return to the Iron Hills. Any children currently older than that would remain in the Iron Hills to be adopted. Dain had also required Erebor to be in a healthy state, with sound structures and a food supply that would continue to be replenished without difficulties. He would not see the children live poorly and Thorin had readily agreed.  
  
And now, five years after the battle, they have taken in sixteen dwarflings. It had only been a few months since the children had arrived but already nine had been adopted by families that Thorin had personally vetted.  
  
Thorin had also ensured that they live well in their foster homes. Erebor’s coffers have supplied the families with more than enough and the children are mostly flourishing but Bilbo does know they crave a family of their own.  
  
Bilbo blinks at Thorin and raises his eyebrows. “Yes, that’s true,” he says and picks up his quill to tap it nervously against the desk. “And… what made you want to adopt a child, love?”  
  
“I have been thinking of it since I made the offer to Dain,” Thorin says with a shuddering sigh. “Helping to raise Fili and Kili fulfilled me in a way that I have not experienced since. You and Erebor fulfill me in different ways.” He looks steadily at Bilbo. “But the boys are grown and fine dwarves they have become with Dis’s guidance. I would like to guide one of my own. I would like to know that, at the end of the day, they are ours.”  
  
Bilbo bites his lip and blinks away a bit of moisture in his eyes. “That… does sound nice, doesn’t it,” he says as he sets his quill aside. “We’re a bit… hmm… old, though, aren’t we?”  
  
Thorin smiles. “Seasoned,” he says lightly.  
  
Chuckling, Bilbo nods. “What a nice way of putting it. But that doesn’t change the fact that if we adopt one of the youngest ones, I’ll likely only have fifty years with them. They won’t even be of age when I’m… when I’m gone.”  
  
“You would give them enough love to last their lifetime,” Thorin says quietly as he walks around the desk. He offers his hands to Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo takes them and stands, clasping them tightly as gazes at Thorin. “I’ve never raised children of my own. I might not be any good at it, you know.”  
  
“You raise Fili and Kili every day,” Thorin says with a small grin while Bilbo laughs. “I know you have experience with your many cousins and you have always done well when we have visited the foster children. I have no doubts you would be a perfect father.”  
  
Bilbo feels his heart seize at the thought, a moment of sheer panic and yet pure exhilaration at the simple word _father._ He swallows dryly as he squeezes Thorin’s hands.  
  
“What about succession?” he manages to choke out.  
  
“Fili would remain my heir,” Thorin says quickly and leans down to press a kiss to Bilbo’s brow. “There would be no Durin blood in our child and there must be for succession. They would merely be a prince… or princess.”  
  
“And what if the people of Erebor don’t like it?”  
  
Thorin smiles warmly. “You know well now how dwarves view children. They would rejoice to know all dwarflings in the mountain have a good family. Do not worry, _ghivashel._ I have been thinking about this for many years and Balin and I have discussed it at great lengths. We think the only worry would be our own personal worries as fathers.”  
  
“Balin?” Bilbo squeaks. He supposes he can’t really feel peeved about Balin knowing all of this before him - he is Thorin’s most trusted royal advisor after all. “Well… it does seem you’ve thought about the more pressing concerns.”  
  
“Aye,” Thorin says. “I have made a list.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a long piece of parchment.  
  
Bilbo takes it and looks it over and laughs. “Goodness,” he says as he reads Thorin’s meticulous and organized list, followed by his rambling notes and concerns. “I suppose we’ll have to sit and go over this together. Now, I’m not saying yes, you know,” he says quickly as Thorin’s eyes brighten.  
  
Thorin grins. “But you are willing to discuss it with me and that is all I had hoped for, Bilbo,” he says and pulls Bilbo into a tight hug.  
  
Bilbo can’t really hug him back considering his arms and the parchment paper are trapped between their chests and he laughs until Thorin releases him. And Thorin is positively beaming, which only makes his heart grow warmer as it flutters with fondness.  
  
“We’ll go over this,” Bilbo says as he smooths out the parchment. “Cover everything possible. And then I imagine I might need a while before I decide.”  
  
Thorin nods eagerly. “Whatever you need.”  
  
“And you’re not to leave any signs trying to sway me like you did when courting me!”  
  
“But you did not even realize I was trying to court you until I kissed you…”  
  
“Even so!”  
  
They giggle like dwarflings sharing a secret and press their foreheads together and close their eyes.  
  
“You make a fine uncle, Thorin. I have no doubts you would make a fine father as well,” Bilbo says. “I think that’s the most important thing.”  
  
_“We_ would make fine fathers,” Thorin says as he pulls back to look at Bilbo. “Thank you, Bilbo.”  
  
“Thank you, my love,” Bilbo says and leans up to press a kiss to Thorin’s cheek. “Now come along! It’s very late and I’m sure we both have somewhere to be later on.”  
  
Thorin chuckles and helps Bilbo to blow out the lanterns and put out the fire. They cross their rooms into their bedroom and climb into bed together and curl around each other. Thorin noses Bilbo’s hair as he whispers sweet nothings and the occasional anecdote about the foster children that he has heard from their foster families.  
  
Bilbo listens with a smile as he rubs Thorin’s back.  
  
And if he feels love blossom in his heart for a child of their own, well… Thorin will know it soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just know Thorin is gonna want all the others too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. Why do you play on the same street corner everyday when I know you're actually a world-renowned musician?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [washcare](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/washcare)

Bilbo had first seen him two months ago. At first it had been hard to believe it was really him but Bilbo would recognize the soulful and weighty way he played the cello anywhere.

Thorin Durin, world-renowned cellist. He traveled the world and played with the _Khazad Orchestra_ normally. They were often in New York and Paris and Berlin but every year they arrive in London to play at Southbank Centre. Vastly popular in the classical music world and Thorin was particularly well known for his solo pieces at the beginning and end of concerts. He would play Brahms and Shostakovich all to resounding applause but when he would close a concert with his own written pieces there would be a standing ovation.

Bilbo would know; he has been to the concert every time it has come to London for the last six years.

He had begun a new teaching job in the city, something far better than his last, and had never taken this route before six months ago. He wonders if Thorin has been here all along.

Thorin plays on an unassuming corner on a busy street often full of busybodies going to work, not unlike Bilbo. It’s a while from Southbank Centre and certainly not an affluent street… not where you might expect to see such a famous cellist playing. Bilbo is used to seeing Thorin in finely tailored tuxedos but every morning that he sees him on the corner, Thorin is wearing a grey hoodie and sweatpants and a blue ball cap. Even flip-flops on sunny days.

Hardly the stuff of legend.

Bilbo thinks he’s perfect.

The moment he had recognized Thorin he had stopped to watch in awe as he played pieces of lesser known composers or more modern classics. And he might have watched for so long that he’d been a half hour late to his morning lecture but the students had forgiven him easily enough. Now he made sure to leave home a half hour earlier than usual so he can lean against the half-wall on the sidewalk and listen to Thorin play.

Thorin’s cello case is always open next to him as he plays but there is a large sign painted with angular letters that says _No Tips, Please._ If someone still attempts to drop a note in Thorin merely shakes his head until they put it back in their pockets.

Bilbo thinks it is because Thorin makes good enough money from his day job but he has yet to meet another person that recognizes Thorin. He is sure some people have but considering how many people tell Thorin once he has finished a piece that he _could probably do this for a living,_ well, it isn’t many. And if he feels as if it’s his own private concert, well, no one has to know.

Today he is nervous to approach the corner considering what he carries in his bag but he breathes in deeply and walks forward on wobbly knees.

His heart leaps with joy as he arrives and Thorin’s blue, blue eyes fall on him. They nod to each other, as has become a habit, and Bilbo tries not to swoon.

Thorin is tall and handsome, black-haired and bearded and Bilbo may or may not have a somewhat crippling crush on him. He has yet to work up the bravery to speak with him and only claps when others do, as he had tried to clap once when he was the only one stopped to listen and it had been terribly awkward even with Thorin smiling faintly.

Today Thorin is playing a cover of _Over the Rainbow_ from the _Wizard of Oz,_ one of Bilbo’s favorite modern pieces. He knows it’s tricky on the cello and yet Thorin makes it look so wonderfully easy.

Bilbo leans against the half-wall and listens and doesn’t see anyone hurrying by. He doesn’t hear the chatter or the car engines or the honking. He only hears the music. He only sees Thorin.

One piece turns into the next, from modern to classical, and crowds gather and thin as he plays. There’s scattered applause and unsolicited advice in between but Bilbo watches as Thorin merely nods and thanks everyone graciously.

Bilbo has the morning off today and if he takes full advantage of that by watching Thorin play for an hour, well… he’s the only one to know it.

But soon, far too soon, he knows he needs to catch a bus to the university and with a fluttering stomach he watches Thorin finish a piece. He must approach him today. He simply must. He can’t continue to be a coward. He has only heard Thorin’s voice twice and he wishes to hear it again, even if it’s only a _thank you._

He pushes himself from the wall and walks to Thorin who is adjusting himself in the chair he brings with him.

Thorin notices Bilbo and pauses and if there’s a note of surprise in his blue eyes, Bilbo can’t blame him.

“Hello,” Bilbo says as he grips his shoulder bag tightly. “You’re wonderful. Erm, the music is… you play wonderfully.” He winces.

But Thorin smiles and it seems warmer than what he usually gives people on this corner. Or perhaps Bilbo is simply looking too much into it.

“Thank you,” Thorin says quietly, his deep voice as perfect as Bilbo remembers it being. “And thank you for… staying to listen.”

Bilbo coughs a little and nods. “How can I not?” he asks and looks down at Thorin’s flip flops. “Why do you do it? I mean, it’s incredible!” He looks quickly at Thorin. “But why are you out here?”

“When I could be elsewhere, you mean?” Thorin asks.

“You _are_ elsewhere,” Bilbo says in a rush because Thorin is starting to frown. “Four nights a week.”

Thorin’s eyebrows raise as he gazes at Bilbo. He is quiet for a while before he smiles faintly. “Not everyone can afford to see a concert.”

And if Bilbo’s heart soars and he falls a little more in love with Thorin, well, that’s his business.

He grins. “No,” he agrees. “It’s good of you to bring the music to them. To us. You make my mornings quite a bit brighter, you know.”

Thorin smiles wider and looks down at his cello. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says with more fondness than Bilbo expects. “You seem to enjoy _Stairway to Heaven_ the most.”

Bilbo blushes. “I enjoy all of them,” he says quickly and is embarrassed to think that he might have been doing something foolish for Thorin to notice one of his favorite pieces. “But, erm… yes, I suppose I’m lucky you play it when I happen to be here.”

“Just when you happen to be here,” Thorin says and continues to smile the same smile that is melting Bilbo’s heart.

He gapes at Thorin who merely watches him while looking a bit amused. “Oh, well… that’s very kind of you,” Bilbo manages to say. “I, erm… I know you don’t take tips but… I brought something for you.” He coughs. “Only now I’m realizing it’s a bit silly but it made me… think of you when I saw it in the store.”

Thorin doesn’t have to know it was a music store.

“What is it?” Thorin asks. “Someone already gave me _Cello for Beginners_ yesterday, so you might be a bit late.”

Bilbo blinks at Thorin before he laughs. “It’s a good thing I got _Cello for Intermediates_ then,” he says and smiles as Thorin chuckles.

Bilbo reaches into his bag and feels something soft and cannot help but hesitate. He knows some celebrities don’t like receiving gifts and suddenly wonders if he’s crossing some sort of line. From innocent fan to _there’s that creep on the corner again._ But Thorin is watching him with kind, soft eyes and Bilbo pulls out the gift and hands it to him.

Thorin takes it and looks down at it for a while, silent, which does nothing for Bilbo’s rapidly beating heart.

It’s a stuffed brown bear in a tuxedo complete with tailcoat and bowtie playing a plastic cello. Bilbo clears his throat.

“Silly, I know, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Thorin says and when he looks up, he is grinning warmly. He chuckles as he flicks the bear’s bowtie. “Looks just like me.”

Bilbo sighs heartily in relief and wipes his sweaty palms off on his trousers. “He does, doesn’t he?” he says as he looks at the bear and Thorin again. “Well, erm, I best be off to class. It’s good to… officially meet you, Mister Durin.”

“Thorin,” Thorin says and sets the bear on his lap before extending his hand. “Please. Just Thorin.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighs, hopefully not too dreamily as he shakes Thorin’s hand. “I’m Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin repeats lowly with a smile. “Thank you for the bear and for being my audience.”

“Glad to be,” Bilbo says faintly and backs away a pace, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I suppose I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Hmm,” Thorin hums as he shrugs. “Or maybe this evening?”

Bilbo’s heart skips a beat and he gapes at Thorin again. “You’ll be here this evening as well?”

Thorin chuckles. “I was hoping to be elsewhere,” he says, sounding amused. “Like maybe in a nice restaurant with you by my side.”

Bilbo stares and stares some more. He is aware his mouth is hanging open and his cheeks are warm but Thorin is merely smiling patiently. “Oh,” Bilbo says croakily. “Well… that does sound very nice, doesn’t it. I’d quite like that.”

“Good,” Thorin murmurs and pulls out his cell phone. “May I have your number?”

Bilbo is slightly embarrassed by the way that he’s mildly out of breath when he gives Thorin his number and watches as he enters it into his phone. His own phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, looking at a text from an unfamiliar number. He frowns at the scream emoji there.

“Shit,” Thorin mutters and fiddles with his phone. “My sister says my fingers are too fat for smart phones and we can’t tell her but she might be right.”

Bilbo looks at the smiling emoji with hearts surrounding it that he receives next and begins to laugh. “I won’t say a word,” he says and grins. “I’m off at four today… would you like to meet somewhere after then?”

Thorin grins in return, a faint pink tinge to his nose. “I’ll pick you up,” he says. “And I’ll be in something nicer than this.”

“It’s charming, you know,” Bilbo says as he glances down at Thorin’s flip flops. “I’ll text you when I’m about finished with my day.”

“Is it frowned upon to text during the work day in class?”

Bilbo laughs. “Oh yes, certainly,” he says and smiles. “For the students.”

Thorin chuckles. “Then expect another poorly chosen emoji soon.”

And Bilbo can do nothing more than continue to laugh and beam at Thorin as he says his goodbyes. He leaves the corner only reluctantly and if he peeks back at Thorin a few times as he goes, well, Thorin is peeking back with a smile and the stuffed bear clutched in his hand.

There are a few more emojis to be had throughout the day but far more warm conversation. Conversation that continues into dinner and breakfast in the morning and every day after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar to others but a comfort to me on a very bad day so I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. Professor Durin and Professor Baggins, in a committed but secret relationship, meet for a drink in Hogsmeade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [angelsallfire](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire)

As Bilbo walks through the gates of Hogwarts and down the pathway toward Hogsmeade, he wonders if he chose the wrong profession.

Teaching is all well and good and yet every year, right around the beginning of May, he questions why on earth he had ever listened to Gandalf. He had recruited Bilbo only a few years after he had left school, when he was working in a small cupboard brewing potions at an apothecary on some dingy street in London. The opportunity couldn’t have come at a better time.

He would still brew potions, one of his great passions, but he would also teach aspiring witches and wizards. Bilbo had once thought of becoming a professor but there had been no spots open at Hogwarts and he couldn’t imagine teaching at any other school. But Professor Radagast had retired and, as Gandalf had put it, there were no others the position could possibly be meant for.

And yet… why had he said yes, again?

Certainly not to watch Miss Bracegirdle lose her head completely over a basic fifth year potion. Or for seventh year Mister Chubb to set Bilbo’s robes on fire not once, not twice, but three times in half an hour. He’s still not particularly sure why the white flames had skittered across the room while dodging other students to set him alight and he’s eager to study whatever Mister Chubb had done wrong in the potion to make vindictive and yet harmless flames.

Bilbo huffs a little.

OWLs and NEWTs are stressful, yes, almost to the point of cruelty for a few of the more ambitious students, and every year they make him want to pack his things and flee to Peru.

Thorin says Bilbo lets himself feel the students’ stress too deeply and while that may be entirely true, it’s beside the point. He hates having to remind them that their very future depends upon how well they brew potions during the exams and watching them turn white.

He knows he was the same himself and had fainted on more than one occasion during study sessions in the library. He feels their pain.

Alright, so Thorin’s point stands. He feels their stress too deeply.

Bilbo blinks a little as he walks into Hogsmeade and realizes he hadn’t been paying attention. At least his feet knew where to take him.

He walks down the street until he reaches the Three Broomsticks and looks over his shoulder before he enters. He can never be too careful on the weekends when Sevenths are allowed into Hogsmeade as long as they’re seventeen. Seventeen year olds are utter gossips.

Bilbo steps inside and breathes in the smell of butterbeer and firewhiskey and tobacco. He smiles as he sees a very familiar figure sitting at a table near the corner, a steaming mug set in front of him. He orders himself a red currant rum and walks to the table and slides into the seat across from Thorin.

Thorin looks at him and smiles warmly. “Thought you’d gotten lost,” he says as he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers over Bilbo’s wrist.

The touch is gone far too quickly but it’s something Bilbo is used to. “Lost in my own head at any rate,” he says with a smile of his own. “How was your Friday?”

They normally spend evenings together but it’s certainly harder to do near exams and he hasn’t seen Thorin since Thursday night.

“Exhausting,” Thorin says wryly. “Why do you smell like burnt toast?”

Bilbo scoffs. “What a horrid thing to say,” he says and sips his rum. “I was set on fire thrice this morning.”

Thorin laughs. “Were you hurt?”

“The flames didn’t burn me at all. Absolutely _fascinating,”_ Bilbo says and launches into the tale of Mister Chubb and his white flames.

Thorin listens with a smile, his eyes soft as he watches Bilbo gesture wildly, the love in his gaze making Bilbo stumble over a few words.

When Bilbo had come to teach at Hogwarts, Thorin had already been there five years and was well established within the school. He had known Thorin briefly in school but they were four years apart and so had never really interacted. Bilbo had thought Thorin was an arrogant bastard when he was old enough to have such thoughts and it had carried over into his first year teaching.

They’d had a bit of a rivalry, which Bilbo knew well enough that he’d started, and which had seemed to endlessly entertain their students. They had often exchanged insults and barbs, especially considering they were Heads of their Houses and had a love for Quidditch.

Headmaster Gandalf had to put a stop to their rivalry when it had resulted in periwinkle robes that refused to be removed and pink hair that had required a visit to Oin to change back. Gandalf’s eyes might have been twinkling as he scolded them and he might have suggested they have a drink in the Three Broomsticks to… make friends and that might have been precisely what they had done.

That was a few years ago now and, as Bilbo finishes ranting about his day and downs his rum, he marvels at where they are now.

Madly in love with a wedding planned for October.

It’s a well kept secret between themselves and the staff. It has yet to leak to the students and Bilbo is constantly surprised they’ve gotten away with it for this long. When they begin to share rooms - officially anyway - Bilbo imagines it’ll spread like wildfire.

“Boffin managed to transfigure my desk into an elephant,” Thorin says mildly after he’s had a good laugh.

Bilbo gapes. “What on earth was it supposed to be?”

“My desk wasn’t the intended target,” Thorin sighs. “A chair was. He missed it entirely. They were transfiguring chairs into grandfather clocks.”

Bilbo bursts into laughter. “You had just as exciting of a day as I had!” he says with a grin. “That must have been quite a sight.”

“I nearly forgot to transfigure it back,” Thorin says with a smirk. “But I gave him fifty points for an incredible feat of wand waving after repairing half my classroom.”

They snicker together and order another round of drinks.

It’s so unbelievably easy to speak with Thorin. More so than anyone Bilbo has ever met. He shudders to think where he might be if he had never accepted what Gandalf had offered him that day in the cupboard. He knows he wouldn’t be nearly as happy as he is now.

They discuss their wedding plans in low tones for a while, on the lookout for any student or busybody that might be near, and enjoy a peaceful Saturday afternoon together.

When they’ve had their fill of alcohol and not nearly enough food, they walk back to the castle.

It’s entirely Thorin’s fault after that.

Bilbo’s back is to a tree quite before he knows what’s happening and he can do nothing but laugh as Thorin attacks his neck with kisses. He wraps his arms around Thorin’s neck and shuffles them out of the view of the pathway. Once he’s reasonably sure that no one will see them there, Bilbo kisses Thorin’s lips and nose and cheeks and throat until Thorin’s breath hitches.

Thorin’s hand finds its way under Bilbo’s robes and is wandering to a very interesting place when someone daintily clears their throat.

“Um… Professors?”

Thorin and Bilbo freeze as they look at each other. Bilbo sees the same shock he feels looking back at him and carefully untangles himself from Thorin, glad that he is, at least, wearing robes. Thorin straightens himself out and they look around the tree at one of their students.

She’s a seventh year and Bilbo curses his luck.

They watch each other for a while. Her face is red but she’s smiling with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“What can I bribe you with to keep you quiet, Miss Cotton?” Bilbo asks glumly.

“Nothing, sir,” she says but there’s a kindness to it. “No one will hear it from me.”

Thorin and Bilbo exchange a glance.

“I swear!” Rosie Cotton says. “My father always told me not to spread gossip if I’m trusted with a secret.”

“It wasn’t a secret we wanted to trust any student with,” Thorin says crossly. “How did you even see us?”

“Oh!” Rosie says and holds up a purple envelope as she approaches them. “Headmaster Gandalf sent me to give this to you.”

“Blasted things,” Bilbo says as he scowls down at the envelope that is conveniently pointing a finger at his chest like an evil compass. “They shouldn’t be legal.”

Rosie giggles. “Or maybe you shouldn’t hide behind trees on a busy pathway.”

They gape at her for a while before their shoulders sag. “You are, unfortunately, right,” Bilbo says. “Off with you.”

“Bye, Professors,” Rosie says cheerfully before she’s off, her blond curls bouncing on her shoulders.

Bilbo looks at Thorin and cannot help but smile at the blush staining his nose. “It’ll be alright, love,” he says and takes Thorin’s hand. He kisses the back of it. “If news spreads, well… it won’t be the worst thing our students have seen us do.”

Thorin scoffs. “Jinxing each other doesn’t compare to… defiling each other behind a tree.”

Bilbo laughs. “Is that what we were doing? I’d hate to know what you call what we did on Tuesday.”

Thorin blushes again and scowls until he can’t keep it up. He chuckles. “After we’ve eaten and I take you to my bed, I’ll tell you what I call it,” he says lowly. “What does Gandalf want?”

It’s meant to throw him, Bilbo knows, and he merely shakes his finger at Thorin before opening the letter. “Ah! He’s warning us there will be more students than usual in Hogsmeade today and to take caution.”

“Merlin’s sake,” Thorin mutters as he reads over Bilbo’s shoulder. “Did he do it on purpose?”

“Of course not,” Bilbo says mildly. “He just didn’t expect any defiling.”

They go back to the castle and make it a point to stay a fair distance away from each other, as they have been doing for years now. It won’t last much longer, they know, and that eases some of the pain. And if they’re a bit more vigilant about rumors circling the school, well, who can blame them?

But their students never do find out. Exams go by with only a few rocky moments and none of their students fail. They celebrate with a bottle of wine and a very large chocolate cake after the students take the train to London.

It isn’t until that evening that they find a letter waiting for them in Bilbo’s rooms, delivered by a house elf, no doubt.

It’s Rosie’s pretty handwriting and she congratulates them on their ability to be discreet - and herself as well - and wishes them luck as she is off into the wide world as an accomplished witch. She thanks them for the lessons they taught her, in and out of the classroom, and tells them they ought to get married if they know what’s good for them. She’s been able to recognize what their eyes hold when they look at each other after all.

“Well, we have to invite her to the wedding now,” Bilbo murmurs as Thorin laughs at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked [angelsallfire](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire) for a prompt because I felt like writing something short and sweet and she always delivers. c: Hope you like this silly thing!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13\. In which flower meanings are explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [morticia-butler](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/morticia-butler)
> 
> Unfortunately I did not follow the actual prompt very well (read: flower crown, reluctantly explained) but I was very inspired to write this anyway so I hope you still enjoy it!

Bilbo is fairly certain there is a thief in Erebor.

A very particular thief.

He is incredibly conscientious about where he keeps his books and in what order they are in and he had noticed straight away a few tomes were missing. He might have thought Fili and Kili were up to no good if the books had been fairytales or hobbit lore of some sort. But they were books of flora. Flowers and plants and trees of the world. They spoke of what climates were best for them and what sort of sun they each might like.

Hardly exciting reads to anyone not interested in plants, which dwarves were decidedly not. Bilbo wonders if perhaps an agricultural expert had asked around for books like it and someone had fetched them out of Bilbo’s rooms.

But that is the problem, isn’t it? They are _his_ rooms and he is a private person. He doesn’t like his belongings touched or moved or out of place, as Fili, Kili and even Thorin have come to know.

And there lies his second problem.

Thorin Oakenshield.

Bilbo’s highly aware of the torch he’s carrying for a certain dwarf king. He knows Thorin’s schedule as well as his own, so he’s often privy to where Thorin will be in the evenings when he’s free. Which is all well and good, since they enjoy each others’ company over a cup of tea and a pipe often enough. But lately Thorin has been… odd.

Shifty, even.

Bilbo might think Thorin himself is the thief if it hadn’t seemed so very out of character. Thorin, reading books on the flora of the world? He thinks not.

But that doesn’t mean Thorin isn’t hiding something. Bilbo often sees him whispering with the company, looking about as if he’s afraid someone might appear out of nowhere, and startling like a rabbit if Bilbo approaches him. When Bilbo knocks on his study door, he often hears quite a scramble inside before he’s allowed in.

He tries not to think that it’s anything unsavory. That Thorin might hide something from him that’ll change their friendship. That Thorin might be… carrying a torch for someone else.

And yet… Bilbo is positive he has seen Thorin gazing at him, his eyes soft, a fond smile on his lips. He isn’t very good at hiding such a look from Bilbo and each time Bilbo sees it, his heart leaps with joy. He wishes to reach out, to touch, to ask, but immense doubts often get in his way. Thorin is a king with a mountain to rule. He is very busy and often only has time for a single meal and a few hours of sleep, let alone any spare time to spend with Bilbo.

Bilbo doesn’t know what the people of Erebor expect from a king either. He’s tried to ask Balin if Thorin will marry and have a direct heir one day but Balin had made strange remarks about the sun rising in the west and setting in the east before Thorin Oakenshield will ever make up his mind. Bilbo had been too frightened to ask what on earth that meant.

Asking Dwalin had been as equally disastrous. Not only had Dwalin turned a sickly pale color when Bilbo had asked, he had mumbled in disgust about besotted fools and walked briskly away. Bilbo had been too frightened to ask if Thorin was the besotted fool… the answer might well be heartbreaking.

Dwarves, Bilbo has long come to know, are very bizarre, and he hadn’t asked any others.

Today Bilbo sits on the counter in the kitchens, gesturing emphatically as he discusses the best way to eat blackberries with Bombur. Bombur keeps mentioning Thorin’s intense love of blackberries and Bilbo keeps reminding him that’s not the point even if, well, it is. He’s always coming up with something blackberry themed in the summer for Thorin to try, as it gives them both endless delight.

And to think, it’s Bilbo’s third summer in Erebor. Time has flown by incredibly quickly, especially since Erebor became the finely tuned machine of old. The mountain has been flourishing now, filled with dwarves old and new. There is plenty of employment within the mountain and outside of it, if one wishes to work the fields, which are booming with vegetables and grain. Wildlife has come back to the growing forests and plains around the mountain and game is easy to come by.

Erebor is truly a magnificent place to live and Bilbo is always surprised by how little he misses the Shire. He does miss it, certainly, but never enough to want to go back. He and Thorin have discussed visiting every few years or so, so that Bilbo might visit what little family he cares to see. They’re due to go next year now that matters have been settled in the mountain, such as creating the council and feeding everyone.

Bilbo tends to stay away from the council, as he’s had enough of politics in the Shire to last him a lifetime, no matter what Balin has to say about it. Thorin asks him for advice nearly every time they see each other anyway - he’s giving plenty to Erebor and doesn’t wish to go grey anytime soon.

“It’s the tart he likes best,” Bombur says as he kneads bread.

“I beg to differ,” Bilbo says as he snacks on a handful of blackberries. “He’s very fond of pies.”

“What about that drink that you make? The blackberry sage one? He drinks that more than he drinks ale!”

“Mmm, yes, that’s true. That might have been a mistake, without extra stores of sage,” Bilbo muses as he pops a blackberry into his mouth.

Bombur chuckles. “We’ve got plenty of sage for this summer but we’ll need more stores for next year at this rate.”

Bilbo smiles as he looks up at the stone ceiling. There are many sides to Thorin Oakenshield, he thinks, but none more endearing than his love of food and drink, enough so to rival Bilbo’s.

Well, maybe.

“Has Thorin been… odd to you, lately?”

“Odd?” Bombur repeats slowly.

“Yes, odd. Unusual. Not his normal self.”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed anything, Bilbo.”

Bilbo looks at Bombur and glares suspiciously. There’s something strange to Bombur’s tone that he doesn’t like one bit. Something that’s been in the tone of anyone else he’s asked about Thorin lately.

“It’s very interesting that I’m the only one that’s noticed anything,” he says mildly.

Bombur shrugs. “Maybe you’re the one that’s unusual.”

“Excuse you,” Bilbo says as he laughs. “That’s very rude.”

“I think that our king simply has a lot on his mind,” Bombur says and smiles. “And that you shouldn’t worry about it.”

Bilbo sighs and nods. “I’ll try not to,” he says as he hops off the counter. “But I’ll have you know that I’m going to find out what it is before long. Maybe after I’ve found the thief that’s been sneaking into my rooms.”

Bombur doesn’t meet Bilbo’s eye. “Thief? What thief?”

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

“Afraid I don’t know any thieves, Bilbo, and that’s very rude to say so.”

Bilbo snickers as he flaps his hand. “You lot can hide whatever mysterious deeds you’re up to for now,” he says as he begins to leave the kitchens. “Blackberries and honey and pastry! I’ll leave the rest to you!”

He hears Bombur chortle behind him and smiles to himself as he walks down the hallway. Considering how nonchalant the dwarves are about a potential thief, Bilbo suspects it must be one of them, and decides to not worry himself too much over it. Not while it’s only books going missing. They’ll turn up one day, he’s sure, and he’ll find out what’s been going on.

Bilbo rounds the corner into a hallway and sees Kili standing in front of his door. He’s fidgeting restlessly and Bilbo frowns as he begins to walk toward him.

But the moment Kili sees him, he turns and sprints down the hallway as if he has a warg on his heels. Bilbo gapes after him, his hand held in the air from the wave he was going to give, and blinks for a while.

“Dwarves,” he mutters as he shakes his head and goes to his door.

For whatever reason, Bilbo pauses before entering. It feels strange. Why on earth would Kili be standing in front of his rooms, as if on the lookout for him? And why would he run away like a buffoon upon seeing him? Bilbo finds himself concerned about what he may find - or find missing - inside.

He huffs a little at himself. He’s being ridiculous.

Bilbo opens the door and steps inside, glancing quickly around.

The scent hits him first, floral and sweet, fresh and clean.

He frowns as he walks further into his rooms, following his nose, until splashes of color catch his eye. There, on the hobbit-sized dining table near his small kitchen, is a bouquet of flowers. It’s massive, full and beautiful, and Bilbo approaches it cautiously.

The bouquet is in an ornate vase of shimmering green and blue glass, blown expertly and twisting artfully. And on the table in front of the vase, lies one of each flower that are in the bouquet. Placed with meaning, Bilbo is sure of it.

And goodness, does it mean something.

He hears familiar footsteps at his door and closes his eyes briefly. It can’t be. It simply can’t.

But he must turn around.

Bilbo does and looks at Thorin, who is standing in the doorway with his arms behind his back as if holding something, observing Bilbo. He looks very handsome and isn’t dressed in fineries, but comfort instead. There is no crown atop his head, no fur coat, and Bilbo understands that he has come as Thorin the dwarf and not Thorin the king.

“Do you like them?” Thorin asks very quietly, not stepping into the room.

“They’re lovely,” Bilbo says and swallows dryly. “You can… you can come in, if you’d like.”

Thorin steps into the room and crosses it with care. Bilbo thinks he might spook at any moment and has a hard time believing he isn’t snug in his bed, dreaming a dream he’s had a thousand times.

When Thorin gets to the table, he sets the stolen books down on the corner of it.

Bilbo’s heart is thumping wildly within his chest, but he doesn’t want to make any hasty assumptions.

“Did you enjoy them?” he asks instead.

“They were insightful,” Thorin murmurs, his eyes darting down toward his boots. He meets Bilbo’s eyes again and straightens his spine. “I have learned much from them.”

“Oh?” Bilbo asks and smiles a little as he looks at the flowers. He reaches out and brushes his fingertips over a red flower lying on the table. “Do you know what they all mean?”

“Aye,” Thorin says and steps closer. He touches the same flower, his fingers brushing over Bilbo’s. “The amaryllis. Splendid beauty.”

Bilbo nods and moves down the table, touching the next flower, white with delicate petals. “And this?”

“Calla lily,” Thorin says quietly as his shoulder brushes against Bilbo’s. “Magnificence and purity.”

Bilbo smiles as he touches the next flower, bright yellow, with five petals.

Thorin collects the first two flowers. “Daffodil. Regard and new beginnings,” he says as he picks that one up as well.

They step in front of the next flower, small and splendidly pink. “The peony,” Thorin murmurs with a smile. “Compassion and a happy life… or a happy marriage.”

Bilbo’s hands are trembling and his eyes sting but he mustn’t ruin it. He looks at Thorin, who is gazing steadily back at him, his cheeks hot. “And the last one?”

Thorin picks up the peony and the last flower, brilliantly red, with many small petals. “Chrysanthemum,” he says softly as he watches Bilbo. “Deep passion.” He breathes out shakily. “Immense love.” He hands Bilbo the small bouquet he has made, which is shaking slightly in his hand.

Bilbo takes it, his heart welling with everything _good_ he has ever felt for Thorin Oakenshield. With fondness and pride, love and passion.

He sniffs. “And together?”

Thorin’s cheeks are very pink but he smiles, wide and true, his blue eyes endlessly soft. “A proposal,” he says. “A proposal of companionship… of marriage… and a proposal of love, that we might share it together.”

“Well,” Bilbo says quietly and smiles. He inhales the sweet scent of the flowers before he adds them to the larger bouquet, keeping only the chrysanthemum. He tucks the stem behind Thorin’s ear. “That’s quite a proposal.”

“Is that an answer?” Thorin asks teasingly, with a grin.

Bilbo chuckles. “It’s a yes,” he says and leans up, grasping the front of Thorin’s shirt.

And they kiss then, chaste and sweet, long and loving, deep and passionate. Thorin’s arms are wrapped tightly around Bilbo and he tastes like spiced tea and pipeweed smoke and, utterly unsurprisingly, blackberries.

Bilbo laughs as he pulls back from Thorin, if only a little, and grins as Thorin looks questioningly at him. “You have a soft spot for blackberries.”

“I have a soft spot for you,” Thorin says as he smiles warmly.

Bilbo’s blushing again, but he finds he doesn’t particularly care. “Good,” he whispers. “Because I quite love you.”

“Hmm,” Thorin hums as he kisses the tip of Bilbo’s nose. “I quite love you as well.”

And they can do nothing more than kiss again, wrapped around each other, the way Bilbo thinks it was always going to be.

They have much to discuss and many people to discuss it with, but for this moment, they only need each other and the beginning of their everlasting love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Thank you!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14\. In which Bilbo turns one hundred years old and Thorin plans a surprise party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given by [telltalelily](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/telltalelily)

Bilbo may be turning one hundred years old but he’s not blind.

He’s highly aware there will be a massive birthday party to celebrate tomorrow. Thorin has been sneaking around, which is something all dwarves fail spectacularly at, but Bilbo has been content to watch him. And if he drops casual hints about what sorts of foods he’s been interested in lately and smiles secretly to himself as Thorin excuses himself to his study each time, well, that is for him to know.

He doesn’t feel one hundred years old. Rather, he feels somewhere around seventy, he thinks. His grandfather was the longest lived hobbit the Shire had seen but Bilbo feels like he’ll live into his one hundred and thirties at this point. As long as Thorin’s parties don’t kill him anytime soon at any rate.

Bilbo enjoys a good party, of course. He is a hobbit, after all, married to a dwarf and living in a mountain full of dwarves. Partying comes with the territory.

But… Bilbo cannot help but hope the party won’t be as big of an affair as his eightieth was. It had been very fun, filled with ale and brandy and cake, family and friends, and yet, merely two hours into the evening, he had been craving the nice quiet of his and Thorin’s rooms. He supposes age is catching up with him whether he’d like it to or not.

He will smile and gladly accept the party, for his friends and for Thorin. Thorin does indeed know him better than anyone and he thinks that, whatever Thorin has planned, he will enjoy it.

He nibbles his dinner as he peers over his plate at Thorin, who is sitting opposite him.    
  
Thorin has been a little jumpy today. He occasionally leaps from his chair in his study to hurry out of their rooms, mumbling about needing to speak with Balin, and Bilbo merely shakes his head after him.

Thorin is nearly all grey nowadays like Bilbo but Bilbo suspects this party will chase away the few remaining black hairs on Thorin’s head. He giggles to himself as he chews his perfectly roasted chicken.

“What are you laughing at?” Thorin asks curiously as he looks at Bilbo from over a piece of parchment paper.

He’s breaking one of their very few rules by having work at the dinner table, but Bilbo thinks he’ll allow Thorin this, at least for tonight. Thorin refused to show him what it was exactly and that can only mean it’s for the party. So Bilbo had merely huffed and puffed but kept his comments to himself.

“Nothing, nothing,” Bilbo says mildly. He takes a sip of his tea as he watches his husband. “Are you sure you don’t need help with whatever you’re working on?”

“I’m sure,” Thorin says equally as mildly. He shuffles the papers together and pushes them under his plate so he can resume eating his chicken. “Please don’t forget that our dinner is at seven tomorrow night.”

“Since when do I forget what time dinner is at?” Bilbo asks as he smiles into his tea cup.

Thorin still looks concerned. “You get lost in your books now and then.”

“Posh,” Bilbo says. “Not enough to forget a meal.” He pauses as Thorin raises his eyebrows. “Well, not that often anyway.”

Thorin smiles. “Should I send Kili to remind you?”

“That boy can’t remember anything these days,” Bilbo says. “Not with those two youngsters running around.”

“True,” Thorin says as he chuckles. “I often forgot what day of the week it was when I looked after Fili and Kili.”

“You see? Fili is a much better choice,” Bilbo says. “He’s only got one so far.”

They laugh together as they finish their dinner. Thorin hurriedly secrets the papers away in his study and Bilbo decides not to tease him. He’ll be disappointed to think that Bilbo has it all figured out already and Bilbo would hate to break his heart. He merely shakes his head again and sits in his favorite armchair with his favorite vintage wine from the Greenwood.

Thorin sits with his favorite ale and they discuss their days, past and present and future, and Bilbo thinks that he never could have imagined such happiness.

When he had been the resident bachelor of the Shire, the idea of ever finding anyone had long been pushed to the back of his mind. He had embraced being alone, even convinced himself he enjoyed it, until a wizard came along, followed by thirteen dwarves. Bilbo had never known his place in the world until Thorin Oakenshield looked at him with eyes so soft, a smile so wide, on a cliff with Erebor in the distance.

He’s fairly certain he fell in love before that, but that moment… that moment had inspired hope.

It’s quite something to think that it’s been fifty years.

Time will always move too quickly but there are so many memories, so much good from the last fifty years, and Bilbo hopes he never forgets a thing about them. Thorin had shown him the way to happiness and he cherishes him for that and much more.

Happiness… what everyone strives to have, but often takes for granted.

Bilbo has seen far too much sorrow and felt too much pain to take it for granted.

Now he has a home, a family, friends, and happiness.

Erebor has treated him very well, he thinks, even when the residents of the mountain weren’t particularly sure about him being their consort. But they warmed up to him quickly and most people are incredibly polite and welcoming. Especially these days, when Erebor has been more prosperous than it ever was before.

He’s watched his friends grow into their places here. He’s watched them marry and grow their families and he feels surrounded by love every day. It’s a wonderful feeling, one that he wouldn’t trade for any rolling green hills.

He kisses Thorin good night and refrains from pointing out that Thorin will clearly be right back out of bed the moment he’s asleep. He’s obviously anxious and Bilbo merely pats his hand and goes to sleep with a smile.

He’ll make sure Thorin knows how much he appreciates his efforts tomorrow night.

——

The day is slow. Bilbo has many things to do, as he always does, helping to run the mountain. But he still keeps looking at the clock and whining to anyone that will listen. They wish him happy birthday and he hands out the small trinkets he has either bought or made for everyone, in the traditional hobbit way.

He eats luncheon and moans to Bofur about slow days. Bofur hadn’t let him into the kitchens, where he normally takes luncheon, and Bilbo hadn’t bothered questioning him why.

It’s all very obvious.

Dwarves, he thinks, are silly creatures, no matter how endearing.

After a nap and a few cups of tea, the clock finally reaches a few minutes before seven.

There’s a polite knock at Bilbo’s door.

“Come in,” he calls from his place in his armchair.

Fili enters and bows exaggeratedly at Bilbo. “Happy birthday,” he says with a smirk as he wanders over.

Bilbo flaps his hand. “Thank you, thank you,” he mumbles as he eyes his nephew.

Fili isn’t dressed in the usual finery that comes with council meetings. He’s dressed comfortably, in loose clothes, only his informal circlet on his head. Dressed for a party, Bilbo thinks… or dressed for drinking anyway.

“Thorin awaits,” Fili announces and holds out his arm. “We shouldn’t be late.”

“Well it’s not my fault you got here at six fifty-seven,” Bilbo says as he stands and takes up Fili’s arm. He pats it. “So, where is the party?”

Fili merely chuckles. “In the great hall,” he says as they walk out of the room and down the hall. “How long have you known?”

“Oh, for a couple of months now,” Bilbo says. “Thorin is rather terrible at keeping secrets. When he started hiding in his study, I thought he may just be up to something.”

“It’s not every day our consort turns one hundred years old,” Fili says. “Don’t tell him until after, if you can help it. He’s worrying enough that you’ll find out before you arrive.”

“Then he doesn’t know me very well,” Bilbo says dryly, but cannot help a smile. Fili merely laughs and they continue on in silence as they walk through the mountain.

It’s empty compared to the usual evening rush. The entire mountain must be in the great hall and that makes Bilbo’s insides squirm. He’s used to crowds, from the Shire to Erebor, but the idea that they’re all there to look at him is a bit concerning. Especially since he’ll likely have to make a speech, but… he’s had two months of practice for that and he’s fairly confident with what he has written down in his pocket.

“Goodness, where is everyone tonight,” Bilbo says mildly as they descend the massive staircase that leads into the hall before the great hall.

Fili snickers. “Surprise, Uncle. Act surprised,” he says as he jostles Bilbo’s arm.

They step into the huge, arching doorway into the great hall and Bilbo frowns as he squints inside. There are shapes everywhere, but it’s dark and eerily silent.

And then something breathes fire.

Bilbo gasps as, at ten different points in the room, blazes of fire are breathed into massive braziers. The fires glow orange until the telltale sign of copper is added and turns them green and blue.

The mirrors, their traditional lighting system, are pointed at each other and the entire room is suddenly lit up and a deafening applause erupts.

Bilbo laughs in disbelief as he looks at the hundreds of dwarves in the hall.

There are streamers hanging above them, blue and silver, red and green, and a massive banner at the opposite end of the hallway that reads  _ Happy Birthday Bilbo Baggins. _ There are kites hung from the pillars lining the room, some of dragons and boars and ravens, some of thrushes and rabbits and golden fish.

There are many long tables in the hallway, meant to seat a thousand dwarves, and in between some of them are a few stages. One holds musicians, who begin to play a happy tune as Fili leads Bilbo further into the room. On another stage are sword swallowers and fire breathers, the ones that lit the braziers, and the crowd cheers as one of them blows a stream of fire through the air.

There are the acrobats from Dale and the theater performers from Erebor, all cheering Bilbo on.

Bilbo looks around and cannot help the mild unease in his stomach.

Thorin has certainly outdone himself and Bilbo can see why it might have taken so long to plan it all. But he can’t help but wonder… does Thorin care more for grandiosity or what Bilbo truly likes?

He thinks that’s unfair, as most people like parties catered to them, and brushes the thought aside as he waves and grins at dwarves he knows.

At the opposite end of the room there is a long table for the royals and the company. His friends cheer and holler happy birthdays as he gets closer.

And there is Thorin, standing next to the middle of the table, a small, soft smile on his lips. He looks proud and… content. Bilbo can ask no more than that.

“Well, hello,” Bilbo says as Fili leaves to join his wife. “It must be someone’s birthday.”

Thorin chuckles and leans in, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s. “Happy birthday,  _ ghivashel.” _

“Thank you,” Bilbo says as he closes his eyes briefly. He places a chaste kiss to Thorin’s cheek and looks out at the people of Erebor. They cheer again and he waves his hands in thanks.

Thorin pours him a goblet of wine and takes his arm. He leads Bilbo around the room and to the different performers, who are entertaining the people. The theater performers are as wonderful as always and acrobats from Dale never fail to impress him. The fire breathers don’t bring back any foul memories for either Bilbo or Thorin and he merely watches them swallow swords and blow bursts of fire toward the ceiling.

Bilbo’s feeling rather starved as they are greeted for the one hundredth time. He’s shaken more hands today than he has in a while and he finds his mind drifting to what menu Bombur might have created for tonight.   
  
They take their places at the table and Bilbo gives a rousing speech that’s met with incredible applause, before Thorin announces the feast.

“I wish for you to see my last surprise,” Thorin murmurs into his ear.

Bilbo’s annoyed with himself for being annoyed with Thorin not serving him dinner first. “Of course,” he says with a smile. “Though this is rather too much! Goodness, how long were you planning for?”

Thorin doesn’t answer immediately. He smiles as he takes up Bilbo’s hand and leads him around the table, decidedly not toward dinner. Thorin veers off to the right, leading Bilbo into a hall that goes further into the mountain. It’s quiet here, immensely so, and Bilbo can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief.

They turn down one more hall and Dwalin stands at the end of it. He opens a door and winks at Bilbo.

It’s all very mysterious and Bilbo looks around suspiciously as Thorin leads him into the room.

Bilbo gasps.

The room is small, a receiving room of sorts, and decorated comfortably. There are deerskin rugs and wooden furniture, a hearth lit with a small fire, to fit the September evening. There are portraits on the walls, all of the company and their families, a larger one set above the hearth of Bilbo and Thorin themselves. He remembers when it was painted a month ago, with a promise to return it on his birthday, and feels his heart well with love.

In the middle of the room is a small dining table, a few candles lit on it, with a bouquet of roses. There are plates and goblets there, set for two, and Bilbo looks at Thorin with tears in his eyes.

Thorin is gazing back at him with a small smile. “I thought you may like some privacy,” he says quietly and leans in to press a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead.

“Goodness, Thorin,” Bilbo says breathlessly. “This is very thoughtful. Thank you.”

They seat themselves and the door opens, showing in Bombur with a cart filled with covered dishes.

“To answer your question,” Thorin says as he smiles at Bombur, “I have been planning this for as long as you have known about it, I’m sure.”

Bilbo gapes at him. “But… I haven’t…” he trails off as Thorin merely raises an eyebrow.

“There are some surprises yet that you haven’t guessed,” Thorin says confidently and grins as Bombur chuckles.

“I suppose I’m not as clever as I think I am,” Bilbo says with his own sheepish grin.

Bombur serves a rack of lamb with blackberry compote and a hearty remoulade sauce. There are mashed potatoes with garlic and sharp cheddar cheese, mixed summer vegetables sautéed to perfection, smothered in butter and herbs. Sourdough and brown, crunchy breads are served with a dish of softened butter, and there is a large bowl of tomatoes on the side. The final dish uncovered is a mix of mushrooms and onions, browned to perfection, to top their lamb and Bilbo sighs happily.

“Perfect,” he says to Bombur.

Bombur beams and bows his way out of the room.   
  
Bilbo looks at Thorin and smiles in contentment. “I suppose you do know me rather well, don’t you?”

“Well enough to keep surprising you,” Thorin says with a grin as he pours them both a glass of wine.

“Nearly as old as I am!” Bilbo says cheerfully as he looks at the year written on the bottle.

They dine slowly, enjoying their meals and each other’s company. The lamb is cooked to perfection, one of Bombur’s best, and Bilbo may or may not ramble on about the crust but Thorin merely watches him with a soft smile.

Dessert is a full white cake with strawberry custard filling and delicate white frosting and Bilbo indulges himself in three large pieces. Thorin nearly keeps up but Bilbo must eat the remainder of his third piece and doesn’t regret it one bit.

When the bottle is half empty and their plates have been cleaned up, Thorin takes up Bilbo’s hand and kisses his knuckles.

“I have one more surprise for you,” he says. “If you can manage a walk.”

“I didn’t eat that much,” Bilbo says with a smile. “Nor am I quite that old.”

“Merely one hundred,” Thorin says as he stands and offers Bilbo a hand.

They leave the room with the bottle of wine in hand and walk at a leisurely pace through the mountain. Dwalin follows but not nearly as closely as he usually might, which is a wonder to Bilbo all on its own.

Erebor looks different with the majority of its residents gathered in the great hall. It feels bigger and even more startlingly beautiful. The green stone shimmers beneath his feet, small diamonds glittering inside of it, something he has never truly been able to appreciate.

They pass closed shops and Bilbo notices the small intricacies in signs and painted storefronts that he’s never really noticed before. He points out whatever catches his interest to Thorin, who in turn points out other things, such as the way the golden chandelier above the marketplace shines or how their voices echo down hallways.

Bilbo has been living in Erebor for so very long that he likes to think he knows it well, but he’s seeing it in an entirely different light now.

It’s exhilarating.

They walk steadily downward, not running into anyone, until Bilbo starts to realize where they’re going. He smiles to himself as Thorin leads him down a long staircase into a darker, less developed area within the mountain.

It smells of damp stone and fresh water here, faintly floral and faintly musky. They turn a corner and a massive room opens up before them.

The natural hot springs deep within Erebor.

It’s a truly cavernous room, with stalagmites and stalactites, pools that range in size to fit two or two hundred. They glow faintly green and steam invitingly.

The hot springs are open to the public and are almost always filled with dwarves, but tonight, there is not a single soul. Even Dwalin hasn’t come in with them and Bilbo finds that the solitude isn’t overwhelming, even in such a big place. It feels like a once in a lifetime sort of treat and he smiles as he looks at Thorin.   
  
“Thank you for this,” he says as he squeezes Thorin’s hand.   
  
Thorin smiles in return and kisses Bilbo’s forehead. “Anything for you,” he murmurs and Bilbo knows he means it.   
  
They choose a pool with a sloping entrance and undress down to their skin. Once submerged, they drink their wine and laugh and embrace and… quite a few other things, but Bilbo will keep the memory of those close to his heart.   
  
It’s not until they’re pruned and the wine is long gone before they can bring themselves to get out of the pool and dress again.   
  
They leave the hot springs only reluctantly and make their way back up the mountain to their rooms.   
  
“One last surprise,” Thorin had said with a mysterious smile.   
  
Bilbo doesn’t feel even the slightest bit guilty about missing the majority of his party and he has a feeling that most dwarves don’t even notice his absence now that he’s given his speech.   
  
Thorin pushes the door to their rooms open and Bilbo steps inside. He inhales a floral scent and blinks as he looks down at the floor.   
  
There is a potted plant sitting on the floor in front of him, and another, and another after that, steadily leading to the bedroom. Bilbo bursts into laughter.   
  
Thorin has laid rose petals on the floor many times over the years and Bilbo enjoys the gesture, but not the fact that he couldn’t see the roses when they were on the bush. He had reluctantly told Thorin this before, that he’d prefer to see rose bushes planted in his garden than dead on his floor. Thorin had merely laughed and kissed him, but he’s clearly learned.   
  
“How wonderful,” Bilbo says as he follows the potted plants to their room, with Thorin close behind him.   
  
When he enters their room, he gapes in surprise at his bed.   
  
It looks rather like an explosion of color.   
  
There are wrapped presents of all colors overflowing the bed and armchairs and sofa and… well, nearly every surface of their bedroom.   
  
“You dwarves and your present giving,” he says faintly. “Are these from the company?”   
  
“Anyone whose lives you’ve touched in Erebor,” Thorin says as he looks around with a smile. “Which is nearly everyone.”   
  
“Look, there’s wine,” Bilbo says as he points at twelve or so bottles on one of their wardrobes.   
  
“Would you like another bottle?” Thorin asks teasingly.   
  
“Oh yes,” Bilbo says as he looks at Thorin. “And another slice of you.”   
  
It’s worth it to see Thorin blush.   
  
——   
  
“You’re very clever, you know,” Bilbo says, after, when he and Thorin are lying wrapped around each other in bed.   
  
“You are continuously surprised by how clever I am,” Thorin says mildly.   
  
Bilbo chuckles. “I don’t mean to be,” he says as he looks at Thorin’s blue eyes. “I will say, however, that you won’t have any idea what’s coming on your birthday.”   
  
Thorin laughs warmly. “Will birthdays be a competition now?”   
  
“Merely grand surprises.”   
  
“With you, every day is a surprise.”   
  
“I hope that’s a good thing.”   
  
“Always.”   
  
Every day is a gift, Bilbo has found, every year a blessing.    
  
And every moment spent by Thorin’s side is a moment he wouldn’t trade for anything else in the wide world.


End file.
